


Freedom

by Heeley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:36:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 73,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6159802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heeley/pseuds/Heeley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione wakes after three years in a coma. The Wizarding world has changed. Death Eater's have been made into slaves and taken over role the house elves once held. Taken to the Weasleys to recover, Hermione meets their slave. Bartemius Crouch Junior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Harry potter belongs to J.K Rowling. This is written for pleasure and not profit.

The last thing Hermione remembered was a bright light. Bottle green and edged with silver sparkles. And then pain. Intense stabbing pain that had filled her body with pins and needles, before turning her muscles into stone. And after that; nothing. Not a sound, or a feeling, or even a thought. Just, nothing. She floated in this nothingness for endless days. Days that turned into weeks, that turned into months, that turned into years. Three of them to be exact.

Then, quite unexpectedly, she felt something. A small something that started to pull her away from the nothingness she'd sunk into. She wasn't aware enough to know what that touch was, but she felt it all the same. And from that moment, her concentration narrowed, all of her awareness focusing on feeling that something again. She would feel a light brush across her skin that ripped her from the darkness. At other times she wouldn't feel, but hear. Strange, distorted sounds that made no sense. It was like trying to listen to a foreign language, underwater and with her ears stuffed full of cotton. But she heard it nonetheless. 

After that, she started to become more aware of things. She even started to have dreams that were full of twisted memories. She dreamt of the final battle. Screams, blood and terror filled her mind in a never ending circle. Hogwarts a broken down mess around her. And then she'd see Harry and Voldemort. Hatred twisting their features as they threw deadly curses at each other. The worry for her friend made her heart thump inside the cage of her ribs. And then a sound to her right. Her head turned and...bottle green light, edged with silver sparkles. And then nothing. 

It was when the pain came that she was most aware. It pulled her out of the nothingness faster than anything else could. So she began to crave it. That pain. That sharp delicious pain. But in the end it wasn't the pain that pulled her free of the nothingness. It was the voices. 

“I think she's waking up,” a female voice said, soft and lilting.

“Floo Potter.” This one was male and clinical.

The sound of retreating footsteps reached her ears. Hermione then felt her eyes being forced open and blinding light filled her vision. 

“Miss Granger? Can you hear me?”

She wanted to shout out that of course she could hear him, but she couldn't make her lips shape the words. Her mouth felt dry, itchy, like it was filled with cottonwool. She tried to remove the fingers from her eyelids, but she couldn't move. Her body wouldn't do what she wanted it too. Confusion began to creep up on her, muddling her already befuddled thoughts. All she could see was white and then the blurred outline of a head.

“Miss Granger?”

“Uuh,” was all she could say.

He moved his hand and she shut her eyes. Blocking out that harsh brightness. 

“You're at St. Mungo's.” He shuffled about beside her. “You've been unconscious since the battle.” The sound of bottles clinking and then the cool press of glass against her lips. 

“Here, drink this. It's a restorative potion.”

She opened her lips to let the thick syrupy potion ooze into her mouth. It coated her tongue unpleasantly, the sharp minty taste stinging her throat as it slid down. She coughed, choking on the viscous liquid. 

“Slowly, Miss Granger.” He pulled the bottle away and began to fuss with her pillows, adding another one which caused her neck to cramp. 

Her body felt as though it was filled with lead and jumbled thoughts gave her a headache as she lay there. She licked her lips and tried to lift her arm. It wouldn't move, not one millimetre. She thought that maybe her finger might have jerked a little. But she wasn't sure. Her eyelids were more co-operative. They opened at her command, and blinked   
when she wanted them to. 

Her vision was still blurry and she kept blinking, hoping to sharpen the edges a bit and make the man come into focus. It would have helped if he hadn't had been moving about so much. But he continued to wander around the room, adjusting the sheets and rattling the potion bottles. She wanted to tell him to stop, but when she tried to speak, all that came out was a feeble puff of air. 

The sound of rushed footsteps came from beyond the door. Her eyes flicked towards the noise, just in time to see it thrust open. 

“Mione!” 

Her heart clenched when she recognised Harry's voice. It was deeper though, with a mature timber that had not been there before. But it was Harry all the same. 

He rushed towards her and she felt him grasp her hand. “We've been so worried about you.” 

Hermione blinked her eyes as she tried to force her vision to work. Harry came into view for the briefest of seconds, but he was different from her Harry. This one was older. He had stubble peppering his jaw, shorter hair and more defined features. 

Panic rushed through her. “Harry?” Her voice was raspy and weak from disuse. 

“Yes!” His hand squeezed her fingers. “Mione it's me.”

Her head shook. No.

“Mr Potter, if I may have a word?” said the Healer from the foot of the bed.

Harry looked reluctant but nodded, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. His stubble scratched her skin and it was such an odd sensation that she grimaced and tried to pull away. They left the room, leaving Hermione alone with a nurse. She wore a pale blue dress that brushed the floor and a white apron and cap. She was avoiding Hermione's gaze and tidying the various bottles on the table next to her bed. She wanted to tell her that the doctor had already done that, but worry had sealed her lips shut. 

All she could do was lay there, look at the ceiling and try not burst into tears. She didn't understand why the nurse wouldn't look at her. Or why Harry and the Healer were talking about her in the corridor. Because they were, she knew they were. 

It seemed to take forever for Harry to come back into the room and when he did, she wanted him to leave again. He was just so...different. 

“Hey,” he said, coming to the bed to sit beside her. It dipped under his weight and she rolled towards him. 

Hermione fixed her eyes on him, demanding answers. He didn't start speaking until the doctor and nurse had left the room.

“Do you remember the battle?” he said. 

Hermione nodded. 

“Well,” he took her hand again before continuing, “during the fight you were hit with a curse. It knocked you unconscious and you were brought to St. Mungo's” 

She frowned. That made sense. But she was awake now. So why did he look so worried? And why were the doctor and nurse so nervous? Was she damaged? Was that why she couldn't move her arms and legs?

Seeing her alarmed expression, he spoke, “You'll be fine. It'll take a while for you to recover though.”

Her breath rushed out as relief swept through her. She had to close her eyes to stop the tears from falling. She was okay. Harry was okay. Ron. Her eyes flew open.

“Ron?” she gasped.

Harry dropped his gaze. “Ron's fine, Mione,” he said.

She didn't believe him. He wouldn't look her in the eye and his foot was jiggling up and down. “Harry?”

“Umm...yeah. You've been out a while Mione.” 

“Ho...” She coughed. “How long?”

“Three years.”

She froze. For a moment she thought he'd said three years. But that was impossible. She flicked her gaze back to Harry. His eyes were filled with pity as he watched her. 

“Harry...?” she said, shaking her head in denial. 

“You'll be fine. We're here for you, I promise.” 

She wouldn't be fine. She'd lost three years of her life. How the hell was that fine? She didn't realize she was crying until Harry brushed his fingers across her cheeks. 

“We'll get through this, you'll be fine.”

He kept saying that, but it would never be fine again. “Voldemort?” she whispered past the lump in her throat. 

“Dead.” He gave her a fierce grin that she couldn't return. 

Hermione turned her gaze to the ceiling. There was a crack; tiny and directly above her head. The longer she looked at it, the more she was sure that it wasn't a crack at all, but a spider. But it hadn't moved so it couldn't be a spider, unless it was dead one. 

“Where's Ron?” she asked. 

“Ah...he's at Grimmauld Place, we didn't want to overwhelm you,” he rushed out.

Too late. She was already overwhelmed. Ron visiting her wouldn't have made any difference. Harry was hiding something about Ron. He had that nervous look that showed his unease and he wouldn't look her in the eye. 

“Where's Ron, Harry?” she asked flatly. 

Harry shifted, “He's fine. I promise. We just thought...”

“Don't lie to me,” she interrupted. 

He sighed and shifted his eyes to the back of his hand. “Three years is a long time,” he said.

“Not for me,” she muttered, her voice beginning to weaken.

Harry winced. “Yeah, sorry.” He drew himself up and stared at her in determination. “Ron married Lavender. A year ago.”

Hermione frowned. Married? He married Lavender? But it seemed just minutes ago that he'd kissed her. That he'd looked at her so shyly and held her hand. And now he was married?

“Mione?” Harry sounded worried. “We didn't know if you'd ever wake up. Ron was devastated.”

“Clearly,” she bit out. 

Harry was fidgeting beside her. “I'm really sorry. He didn't want to hurt you. He...”

“I'm tired,” she said, cutting him off. She didn't want to hear him say another word. Not one. “Would you mind leaving me alone?”

An awkward silence fell between them, one she had no intention of breaking. Instead, she closed her eyes, feigning sleep. Of course Harry knew what she was doing, but he didn't call her out on it. He just sighed, pressed another kiss to her forehead and said, “I'll be back tomorrow.”

Hermione waited until he was near the door before speaking. “Please, don't bring Ron.” 

“I...okay,” he muttered. 

Her eyes were closed as he shut the door. She counted to ten. Hissed in a breath and then burst into tears. Which in hindsight was a mistake, because everything fell to the back of her throat and made it hard to breathe. 

Three years? How could three years have passed without her knowing. And Ron married? It just didn't seem real. Confusion battled with hurt as she lay there, a jumbled mess, until the nurse returned. She was desperate for an explanation that would make sense to her. But the nurse continued to avoid her gaze. 

“Miss Granger?” the nurse said, focusing on her nose. 

Hermione bobbed her head.

“Lippy has been assigned to assist with your recovery.” She snapped her fingers and a tiny, thick lipped, elf appeared. Her large ears flopped down onto her shoulders and swayed when she moved. She was wearing the most stunning blue silk pillowcase, draped around her body and cinched at the waist with a green cord.

The nurse pointed to Hermione. “Lippy you will be looking after Miss Granger until she recovers.” 

Lippy regarded the prone witch. “Hello, Misss” she said.

“Please, call me Hermione.” 

Lippy curtsied. “Of course, Mistress Hermione.”

The nurse clapped and the sharp noise caused Hermione to wince. “Now, I have my rounds to complete. I'll be back to check on you later Miss Granger.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, pretending she hadn't seen the pitying look the nurse had given her before leaving. 

“Does Mistress Hermione want a drink?” Lippy asked from the side of the bed. 

Hermione nodded and watched as the elf clicked her fingers and making a glass of water appear out of thin air. There was a purple straw in it that Lippy bent and eased into Hermione's mouth. 

“Not too much,” the elf cautioned, “Lippy doesn't want to make you sick.” She pulled the straw from Hermione's mouth and set the glass on the bedside table. 

The cool liquid filled her stomach, but her mouth felt much better. Moist and not so painful to swallow. She could feel Lippy watching her and so she swung her gaze towards the elf. Anything to distract her from her churning thoughts. 

“I didn't know elves worked at St. Mungo's,” Hermione said. 

Lippy nodded her head. “Lippy and friends work here now.” She thumped her chest, “no longer have nasty Death Eater masters.”

“Why not? What happened to the Death Eaters? Did they go to Azkaban?” The questions tripped out of Hermione's mouth one after another. 

Lippy was shaking her head, ears swinging back and forth. “Oh no Mistress, Azkaban was blown up. BANG!” She swirled her hands in the air. “Death Eaters couldn't go there, so they replace house elves. Make good workers.” 

Hermione's eyes widened in alarm. “Workers? I think you mean slaves.”

“Not slaves Miss, House elves,” Lippy said.

“But it's the same thing,” Hermione whispered. 

Lippy patted Hermione's hand soothingly. “Rest now, Miss. Lippy will watch over you.”

Panic seized her chest. “But what if I don't wake up again?”

“There, there, Lippy will watch.” She clicked her fingers and conjured a chair. It was tiny and when the elf sat, Hermione could see the top of her head. She then began to hum a strange off key lullaby. 

Hermione stared at the ceiling and fought the drowsiness that sought to drag her back down into the abyss. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was full of questions. How could this be happening? The world had turned upside down and they didn't seem to see how wrong it was. Her eyes fluttered closed and though she tried, she couldn't make them open again. 

Hermione did wake up again. This time to a darker room and no Lippy. Instead, the same nurse from earlier was seated beside her and reading a copy of the Daily Prophet. For a moment Hermione studied her, taking in the soft brown hair and wrinkled skin. She wondered if this nurse had been taking care of her for the last three years. 

“Could I have some water please?” The nurse jumped when Hermione spoke, dropping the Prophet and reaching for her wand in reflex. 

As soon as she saw Hermione's alarmed look she sat back down. “I'm so sorry! You startled me.” She reached across to grab the water glass. “Here.”

Hermione took a long sip, nodding when she'd had enough. “Where's Lippy?”

“Oh. She had other duties to attend too. If ever you need her, just click your fingers and call her name.” 

“And your name is?” Hermione asked, whilst trying to click her fingers. She couldn't. They felt numb and heavy. Like they belonged to someone else. 

“It'll come back.” the nurse said. “Your muscles haven't been used in a long time. And my name is nurse Primrose.”

Hermione nodded. “It's nice to meet you. Have you looked after me all this time?”

“No. Only the last year.”

“I...” She moistened her dry lips. “Lippy said the Death Eaters were made into house elves. I don't understand how that can be.” 

Nurse Primrose settled back into her chair. “Yes. Azkaban was destroyed, so there was nowhere else to house them.” She frowned as she spoke, “It began as a rehabilitation program. A way to integrate them back into our community. The ministry decided that it would be best if they lived alongside us, learnt the proper way to act and behave.” Her eyes dipped to the floor. “It didn't work out very well as you can imagine. A way was found to bind them into servitude instead.”

“Servitude?” Hermione said unable to disguise her disgust.

Nurse Primrose drew herself up defensively. “It was for everyone's safety, they just wouldn't change. No matter what we did or how we punished them, they continued to spew hatred.” She lay her hands in her lap. “And now they can't.”

Hermione looked at her in disbelief. Was she trying to justify turning the Death Eaters into slaves? And what the hell did she mean by punishment? 

She narrowed her eyes at the nurse. “What did Harry have to say about this?” 

Nurse Primrose blinked in surprise. “It was partly his idea. And he has a Death Eater in his employ at this time.”

“So they get paid?” she snapped out. “And which Death Eater does Harry own?” She refused to use the word employ. 

Nurse Primrose looked flustered. “No, of course they don't get paid. They get room and board. And Mr Potter employs Draco Malfoy.” 

Hermione gasped. “No! This is barbaric.” She angrily at the ceiling. What on earth was Harry thinking? How could he? And Draco? He was as much of a victim as the rest of them. 

The nurse shifted in her seat, sensing Hermione's outrage. She got to her feet intending to leave the witch in Lippy's care, but the moment she moved, Hermione speared her with a fierce glare. 

“And would you happen to know if the Weasley's have a slave.” She spat. 

The nurse tightened her lips in annoyance. “I do.” She marched to the door, “Bartemius Crouch, junior.” She slammed it shut behind her, leaving Hermione seething and alone.


	2. Chapter Two

Hermione was still seething the next day. Mainly because she couldn't do anything. Not just about the Death Eaters, but for herself either. For some reason she'd imagined that after a good night's sleep, she'd be back to her usual self. How wrong she'd been. It became apparent that she needed Lippy to help her with everything. Sitting up, eating, washing, even using the loo. It was embarrassing, degrading and frustrating.

Four hours ago the Healer had come to see her. He'd checked her vitals and told her that it would be several months before she'd be back to normal. Her muscles needed time to rebuild, her stomach would need to get used to food again. He'd avoided her gaze when he mentioned that her mind would need to heal, too. He hadn't mentioned her emotions at all and it was those that she was struggling with most. One moment she was so angry that she couldn’t breathe and the next she was on the verge of tears. All the Healer had done was leave her with a huge bottle of lotion, with the instruction that Lippy was to rub it into her limbs. He said it would help to strengthen and rebuild her weakened muscles.  
It stank of chamomile, honey and ground-up nettles. The first time Lippy had smothered it on, the lotion had stung and made her skin feel like it was on fire. It continued to bother her over an hour later, but she was unable to rub it off her skin. Her arms weren't working properly, but she could at least move her fingers and twist her wrist, and if she concentrated hard, she could lift her hand a few centimetres off the bed. It wouldn't stay lifted though. After a few seconds it would shake before flopping back down again.

The hand lifting only distracted her for so long. And the room was no help in alleviating her boredom. The blank, white walls, grey-tiled floor and soft green blanket were designed to offer no stimulation. One thing held her attention; a crack on the ceiling. She was sure it was bigger than a few moments ago. A little more twisted. But then her thoughts would drift away from the crack to Ron and her chest would tighten. How could he do that to her? Did she mean nothing to him? They'd shared that kiss. That crazy, wet press of lips that had made her heart beat faster and her stomach flip.

Hermione shook her head, trying to shake away the memories of that night. But to her, it was days ago. How on earth had three years passed without her being aware? Her anger built again. And Death Eaters as slaves? What on earth had they been thinking?

She scowled at the door, waiting for Harry to arrive and explain himself. Each passing second caused her frustration to increase. She'd given up hope that he'd visit at all, when the door swung open. Yet, it wasn't Harry who stood in the doorway, it was Ginny Weasley.

Hermione blinked. She looked so different. Taller, more filled out. Still the same vibrant red hair and flawless alabaster skin, but more mature. Like she'd grown into her body.

Ginny smiled wryly. “Hello. I'm guessing I look different from what you remember?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes. You look good.” She smiled and flicked her fingers. “Come in , please.”

The redhead entered the room, shut the door and summoned a chair to sit on. It was all done in one effortless movement that Hermione envied. “Where's Harry?” she asked as Ginny shuffled into a more comfortable position.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “He thought it might be best if I came to see you.” She gave Hermione a sly smile. “But I think we both know he and Ron are crapping themselves.”

Hermione scowled. “Yes,” she spat. “Tell me about Ronald.”

“My brother is an idiot.” Ginny swayed forward. “And honestly, Hermione, it never would have worked between you. You would have killed each other within a year.”

“That's what I thought, until the kiss,” she said, eyes narrowed with bitterness.

“What kiss?” Ginny asked.

Hermione scoffed. “He didn't tell you?” Ginny shook her head. “It was after we destroyed the Horcrux, during the battle.”

The youngest Weasley looked furious, blue eyes darkening and mouth pressed into a tight line. “He's a prat. Mum's going to go mental.” She smiled at Hermione's raised eyebrows. “You know, mum always wanted you two to get together. You should have seen her face when Ron said he was going with Lavender. She kept saying 'what about Hermione' and Ron would shift about and turn red.” She narrowed her eyes. “I knew he was hiding something. But he said nothing ever happened. The little shit.”

Hermione gasped, “Ginny!”

“What? He is.”

“Yeah, he kind of is, isn't he?” Hermione said, a little taken aback that Molly had felt that way. “What happened then?”

Ginny gave a gleeful clap. “They eloped! Mum still hasn't forgiven him, said that his harlot of a wife wasn't welcome at the Burrow.”

“So where do they live?”

Ginny's look turned sour. “Grimmauld Place with Harry.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “And Draco. We mustn't forget him.”

An alarmed look crossed Ginny's face. “Hermione...”

“How could you! Death Eaters as slaves? It's crazy and stupid and dangerous!” Her voice rose as she yelled. Well, as best as she could. That's all her underused throat would allow.

“It was the Ministry’s decision. We had no choice.” Ginny looked at the floor. “It was bad at first, they couldn't be controlled. They killed people. Then someone came up with the idea of enslaving them by controlling their magic with a collar.” She flicked her gaze back up to Hermione. “It just made them worse. That's when the punishments started. Small things; withholding food or making them sleep on the floor.” She winced. “Now they suffer much worse than that. The Ministry has a list of sanctioned punishments to use as part of their rehabilitation.”

A grim silence settled between them.

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. They were using the Death Eaters as slaves and they were abusing them as well. All with the backing of the Ministry. It was barbaric. She glanced at Ginny who at least had the grace to look ashamed.

“Does...”Hermione swallowed her dread. “Does Harry treat Draco badly?”

Ginny tilted her head. “Not as bad as some. And only when Draco runs his mouth.”

Hermione snorted. “So often then.” She narrowed her eyes at Ginny. “You do know it's wrong , right?.”

The redhead grimaced. “Yes and no.” Seeing Hermione's frown she rushed on. “Some of the Death Eaters are too damaged to ever be set free. They're broken and dangerous and the only way to insure they're not harming other people, or themselves, is to keep them enslaved.”

Hermione was shaking her head before Ginny had even finished speaking. “You can't believe that.”

“It's true. Barty, for instance. He'll never be set free. He's too unstable.” She looked as if she was about to say more, but dismissed the idea. “But Mione, in some cases the rehabilitation works! A couple of Death Eaters are even being considered for freedom.”

“How generous,” Hermione sneered. “Explain this rehabilitation to methen. How does it work?”

Ginny nodded. “A wizard from the continent came over. He did some experiments and found that if the Death Eaters were stripped of all of their beliefs and views, if choice was taken away from them, then they could be reprogrammed.”

A sick feeling settled in the pit of Hermione stomach. “And how are they stripped of these things?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

Ginny hesitated. “Pain, humiliation, threats. In order to avoid these things, the Death Eaters are changing. They're learning how to be more like us!”

Hermione was close to tears. She could feel the burn of them behind her eyes. How could Ginny think that torturing the Death Eaters was right? She closed her eyes as the first tear fell.

“Mione?” A soft hand brushed her cheek. “I know you don't like it, but that's just how things are now,” Ginny said.

Hermione grit her teeth. Things might be like that now, but as soon as she was back on her feet, those things were going to change. She opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling crack. “I'm really tired Ginny, would you mind leaving?”

The redhead didn't move for a long moment. Her blue eyes regarding Hermione before she sighed she stood up. “Shall I tell Harry to come?”

Hermione shook her head. “I need some time. Will you tell him to visit tomorrow?” Ginny nodded and began to walk to the door. As she reached it, Hermione called out, “And Ginny? I can't see Ron yet.”

Ginny nodded. “I'll tell him. And I'll tell him I know about the kiss, too.”

“Okay. Thanks. Oh, do you know where my wand is?”

“Mum has it in a box at the Burrow.”

Hermione sighed in relief. At least it wasn't broken. She'd been worried that when she'd woken and couldn’t find it that it had been snapped or lost.

“Mione?”

Hermione pulled herself away from her thoughts and looked at Ginny.

“I...” She waved her hand about in a vague motion. “I don't do that stuff. To the Death Eaters, I mean.”

“It's okay. Visit me again?”

Ginny nodded. “I'll come tomorrow. Can I bring mum, too? She won't stop worrying until she's seen you.”

“Yes. But I want to see Harry on his own,” Hermione said.

“Got it.” Ginny offered her a wry smile and left the room.

As soon as she was alone, she burst into tears. It was annoying because she couldn't even lift her hand to wipe them away. And that made her cry even more. She just felt so helpless and alone. And she hated it. She hated that she wasn't sure whether or not she liked her friends anymore.

For the first time she regretted obliterating her parents. She wanted her muggle mum and muggle dad, and she wanted her muggle life back. She'd never imagined that the side she'd chosen to fight for would end up being no better than Voldemort.

She allowed herself five minutes of misery before she sucked up the last of her tears and called for Lippy. The elf appeared with a loud pop.

“What can Lippy do for Miss?” Her lips made a smacking sound as she spoke.

Hermione pointed to the brown lotion bottle. “Could you put some more on me, please?”

Lippy nodded. “Miss likes lotion?” she asked, coating her tiny hands in the stinky oil.

Hermione scrunched up her nose. “No. I just want to get better as fast as possible.” She winced when the elf began to apply it in long smooth strokes to her arm. It hurt. Lippy had small hands, but they were bloody strong.

“Ahhh,” Hermione gritted her teeth as Lippy moved up to circle the top of her arm. “When you've finished that, could you bring me some broth?”

“Yes. Lippy made it especially for the Miss.”

“Thanks.” Hermione watched as Lippy finished her arm and switched to the other. “Do you like working here?”

“Oh yes! Lippy likes to look after people.”

“And the other elves? They like their new jobs?” Hermione asked.

Lippy nodded so enthusiastically that her ears slapped together beneath her chin. “Yes. Some miss old Masters, but not all.”

Hermione watched her carefully. “Who was your Master, Lippy?”

A wide grin stretched her mouth, showing blocky grey teeth. “Lippy's masters dead now.”

“Yes, but who was it?”

“Carrow family.”

“Oh.” Hermione grimaced as the elf lowered the blanket and began to work on her legs. It was going to hurt. Already her arms were burning and aching and there was way more skin on her legs. “Did they treat you well?”

“Lippy was not unhappy.”

Hermione sighed and dropped her head back onto the pillow. She was exhausted and she hadn't even done anything but lay down and talk. In the end she fell asleep before Lippy had even finished applying the lotion.

////////////////////////////////////

Hermione slept the rest of the day and most of the next. The Healer had told her it was because she was so weak from being inactive for such a long length of time. And that now that she was awake, it wouldn't take much for her to become tired. She needed to rebuild her strength, but also allow her body to rest. Which Hermione thought was absurd, but couldn't seem to do anything about. She fell back asleep thinking about that.

The next time she woke it was to an odd clacking sound. She flicked her gaze to the side and saw Molly Weasley sitting beside her bed and knitting what looked like a jumper. Whatever it was, it was large and an odd orange colour that would clash horribly with the famous Weasley hair.

“Molly?” Hermione whispered.

“Oh!” Molly dropped the knitting and pulled Hermione into a tight hug. “I was so worried about you! How are you? Can I get you something? Are you hungry? You look too thin.”

Hermione smiled into the warm fuzzy cardigan that smelt of cookies and patted Molly's back. “I'm fine. Some water would be nice and I'm not allowed to eat anything but broth yet.”

Molly withdrew. “Broth? You can't get well on broth!” She scoffed, reaching for a glass of water and holding it for Hermione to drink. “There now, had enough?”

Hermione nodded. “Thank you. Did Harry and Ginny not come?”

Molly sat on the mattress. “Yes. They stayed for an hour, but you didn't seem to be waking up soon, so I sent them off.”

“The Healer said I'll probably sleep more during the next week. But after that I should start to get stronger,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

Molly scoffed. “Healer's don't know half of what they pretend to. What you need is some home cooking, a comfy bed and your loved ones around you.” She glared with distaste at the sterile room Hermione was sleeping in. “This is soulless.”

Hermione smiled. It wasn't soulless. There was the crack after all. “How is everyone?” she asked, hoping she'd mention every Weasley but Ron.

“Fine, Dear, fine.” Molly frowned for a moment. “Well, George struggles without Fred.”

Hermione gasped. “What?”

Molly's eyes widened. “I thought you knew.”

Hermione shook her head, eyes filling with tears. “He's dead?”

“During the battle. George never got over it. None of us have.” She patted Hermione's hand. “I'm sorry you weren't told.”

Grief bubbled up Hermione's throat and spilled out. Molly reached across and drew her into a tight hug. A little too tight, as it hardly allowed her to breathe, but she was grateful for it as she sobbed her heart out. She'd missed so much. “Who...” She hiccuped. “Who else?”

“Remus and Tonks, some others, but none that you were as close to.” She rocked Hermione as she spoke, murmuring soft nonsense words meant to soothe. “Let it out Dear. There, there.”

Hermione did let it out. All of it. Not just this new grief, but her fear and frustration as well. It wasn't fair. None of them deserved to die. They were good. She took a shuddering breath and waited for Molly to release her. It was when Hermione felt a wet drop touch her neck that she realised Molly was crying as well. She concentrated hard, willing her arm to move to embrace the Weasley matriarch. She managed to get it to rest against the small of her back but no further.

At last Molly pulled away, laying Hermione back on her pillow. “Now,” she said brushing her tears away, “how about I speak to this Healer and arrange for you to be transferred to the Burrow?”

Hermione hesitated. Did she want to go to the Burrow? It would be better than looking at this drab room. And Molly would pester her into getting better on a daily basis, her recovery was bound to speed up. “I can't see Ron yet, not while I'm like this.”

Molly frowned. “You can't avoid him forever.”

“I know,” Hermione sneered. “I don't intend to. But I feel too...” she scrambled around for the right word, “...vulnerable right now. I wouldn't be able to walk away if we start arguing.”

Molly nodded her head. “Of course, Ron and his wife will not be visiting the Burrow, regardless. They have both hurt me and I'm not ready to forgive them myself, yet.” She reached for Hermione's hand. “But you will stay, won't you? The Burrow is so quiet with only Arthur, George and myself.”

“Ginny doesn't live there?”

“No.” Molly's lips tightened. “She lives with Harry.” Her voice was thick with disapproval.

So thick that Hermione didn't dare ask anything about it. Clearly Ginny was living in sin with the boy who lived. She was proud of her. But she couldn't find any amusement in the situation, because all she felt was numb. She guessed it was shock combined with grief. But it was hard to think beyond the drugging tiredness that was beginning to creep up on her. 

“Then if you're sure you don't mind, I'd love to stay,” Hermione whispered, eyes fluttering closed. A second later she was asleep.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

It took two days for Molly to arrange for Hermione to be moved to the Burrow. Two days in which Hermione still feel asleep at the slightest hint of exertion, and had gone through one bottle of lotion and was halfway through the second. But at least her broth now contained soggy vegetables and what she hoped was chicken. Although Lippy hadn't answered when she'd asked what the meat was. She'd just kind of flapped her hand around.

She'd missed Harry every time he'd come to visit. But she had a sneaky suspicion that he was doing it on purpose. Waiting outside and listening at the door for her breathing to deepen and her eyes to close. It hurt. That he was avoiding her. Yet it also confirmed that he knew what was happening with the Death Eaters was wrong. And that was why he didn't want to speak to her. He was ashamed of what was happening. 

Hermione shifted on the bed, a move she had perfected yesterday. It wasn't much of a move. More of a shuffle. But it was something she hadn't been able to do the day before, and she was holding onto it like a lifeline. Lippy had already dressed her in soft warm sweat pants and a plain white T-shirt. So now all she was doing was waiting. And waiting. And waiting. 

Just as another nap threatened to overcome her, the door swung open and Molly appeared, followed by Ginny and Harry. 

“I thought you weren't coming.” Hermione said pinching the side of her leg to try and jolt herself awake. 

“We got caught up dear, now Harry, you wait here and Ginny and I will get everything sorted.” Molly said, bustling back out of the door with Ginny in tow. 

Hermione turned to Harry, pinning him with an accusing glare. “Well?”

Harry shuffled. “I don't know what you want me to say Mione.” 

“I want you to explain to me how you ended up with Draco Malfoy as your slave.” Hermione snapped. 

Harry shook his head, “It just happened.” He looked truly baffled, and a fraction of the anger tightening her chest left, “A minister came to the house, he said it was my responsibility to show the Wizarding world how to behave.” He shook his head again. “And then Draco was moving in!” 

Hermione winced, imaging what fun that must have been. “You know I can't just let this happen, don't you?”

Harry held up his hands and looked alarmed, “I can't hear this.” He looked at the door and moved closer, “Mione I'm an Auror now. I'm supposed to report conversations that involve that kind of talk.” He finished in a whisper. 

"Why? And to who?” She snapped.

Harry again looked at the door, “My boss. Things are different now, the Ministry monitors everything and everyone. They never want to see another voldermort happen again. Anyone who shows any sympathy for the Death Eaters is brought in for questioning.” 

“That's absurd!”

Harry reached across and grasped her hand, “Mione, you have to be careful. You can't just say those things. Someone will report you.”

Hermione shook her head, “I don't believe this. Are you serious?”

Harry nodded. “Promise me you won't do anything.” Seeing the determined look on her face, he said, “I mean it Hermione, I don't want you hurt. Please.”

Hermione bit her lip and studied Harry's worried look. He looked...scared...a look she was very familiar with. He'd worn it every day during their time at Hogwarts. She sighed, “I promise Harry.” He didn't have to know that she'd somehow managed to cross her toes. And everyone knew if you crossed something when making a promise it didn't count. 

He looked relieved and she wasn't sorry for lying to him. Not if it meant he wouldn't worry about her. She traced her eyes over his face. It really was amazing how different he looked. Maturity suited him. She smiled as he shifted under her stare. 

“So, you and Ginny?” 

Harry flushed and ducked his head, avoiding her gaze, “Yeah.”

“Why are you embarrassed?” She chuckled as the blush spread to his neck, “Honestly Harry, it was always going to happen between the two of you.”

Harry shifted, “umm...yeah.” 

She was about to tease him further when Ginny came in. The redhead glanced at Harry's flushed cheeks, raised a brow, but didn't make any comment. “Mum's taking all your lotions and stuff to the Burrow. She said give her five minutes and then follow.”

Hermione nodded and smiled cheekily at Ginny, but if faded when she saw the pointed look she passed Harry. “What is it?” She said.

Harry shuffled, “Nothing.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, “Well, not nothing, we just wanted to let you know what to expect when you get to the Burrow.”

“What do you mean?”

“With Barty and George.” Seeing Hermione frown, Harry sent a pleading look Ginny's way.

She rolled her eyes, marched forward and sat herself on the bed next to Hermione, “George isn't the same as you remember him. He's bitter and still incredibly angry over Fred's death.” Ginny narrowed her eyes as she spoke, “He takes it out on Barty.”

“And your parents let him?” Hermione said incredulous. 

“It isn't like that. He was bad to live with, George I mean, he took everything out on the rest of us, he was drinking like a loon, and getting into fights, and he would say the most awful things.” Ginny cocked her head as she remembered a time that Hermione had no awareness of, “When dad pulled the short straw and we got landed with Barty, George started to take all his stuff out on him instead. At first it was...bad...but now it's like he's gotten rid of all his hatred and he doesn't punish Barty half as much.”

“But he does still punish him?” Hermione said flatly. 

“Only when he deserves it.” Harry chimed in. Earning him a fierce glare from the wild haired witch. He lifted his hands and backed up knowing he'd said the wrong thing. 

Ginny tapped the back of Hermione's hand to regain her attention. “Mione, You do remember what Barty did don't you? He isn't the innocent in all this.” She tipped forward causing her hair to fall about her shoulder's in perfect red strands, “and believe me, if he were living with any other family he would be treated a lot worse than he currently is.”   
Hermione nibbled on her lip. Mostly to stop herself from spitting out the words she wanted to say. 

“He bit off Padma Patil's tongue.” Ginny said flatly.

“What!?” Hermione looked from Ginny to Harry to see if it was some kind of sick joke. Harry was grimacing so she knew that it wasn't. “Why would he do that?” She asked in disbelief.

Harry scoffed, “because he's insane, and unpredictable, oh and evil.”

“Hush.” Ginny snapped seeing Hermione's alarmed look. “You'll be safe at the Burrow, just watch what you say around him.” 

“I don't understand. I thought the collar meant he couldn't harm anyone.” Hermione said, feeling sick and having second thoughts about staying at the Weasley home. 

“He can't hurt anyone. Not without permission. But he's sneaky.” Ginny sneered, “before he was transferred to dad, he belonged to the Patil's, and Padma, the daft bint, thought it would be a good idea to show off how she could boss around the big bad crazy Death Eater. Her friends dared her into making him kiss her. And he did. But as soon as Padma's tongue entered his mouth, he bit it clean off.”

“That's...I don't even know what that is! They put it back on though, please tell me they put it back on!” Hermione said.   
Ginny shook her head, “He spat it in the fire.”

“Oh god!” Hermione's breath hitched. She was panicking, “I don't know if I can go there.” 

“Calm down Mione, you'll be fine, Molly will take care of you and she won't let Barty won't you. Just be careful how you word things.” Harry said, “and don't look him in the eye.”

“Are you trying to scare me on purpose!? Because Harry Potter you are succeeding!” Hermione ground out. 

Ginny pushed Harry aside, “Harry just means that if Barty was carrying you, and you asked him to put you down, then Barty would simply drop you on the floor. See? He's done what you asked him too, just not exactly how you wanted. And as for looking him in the eye, why on earth would you want to?”

Hermione blinked. Why on earth wouldn't she want to look someone in the eye? 

Mistaking Hermione's confusion, Ginny clapped her hands, “Right shall we?” 

“I'm not sure I want to go,” Hermione said.

“Don't be ridiculous, mum will kill us if we don't take you to the Burrow.” Ginny got up, “Harry's going to carry you and we'll floo their. Okay?”

“I...” Hermione was cut off by Harry lifting her effortlessly off the bed. 

“It really will be okay, Mione. I wouldn't let you go if it wasn't” Harry whispered softly into her ear. 

She hesitated but finally nodded. She trusted that he wouldn't let anything happen to her. But that didn't stop her stomach from quivering, or her palms from sweating. The closer they got to the lower floor and the floo network the more nervous she became. Her heart thudded horribly and she honestly felt like throwing up.   
When they reached the floo network she closed her eyes and held her breath. She still had them closed when Ginny threw in the floo powder and shouted out their destination.  
She knew the instant they arrived. She could smell it. The lavender and tea and baked sugar smell that immediately eased her nerves. It was so familiar that she almost wanted to cry. 

 

“Ah, you're here. What took you so long? Harry put her on the chair.” Molly bossed.   
Hermione opened her eyes a crack as Harry settled her on the chair. Quickly scanning the room for any sign of Barty. She didn't see him, so she opened her eyes fully. The Burrow was just as she remembered it to be. Warm, shabby and utterly welcoming. She smiled softly when her gaze settled on Arthur Weasley. He was standing unobtrusively next to a side table, waiting patiently for her to acknowledge him. 

“Hello Mr Weasley,” She said softly. “How are you?”

“Fine dear, but I think it should be me asking you that.” 

Hermione grimaced, “I'm okay. Better now that I'm here.” 

“Just so, and we're happy to have you. ” He switched his attention to Harry, “How's work? I hear they've brought in some new guidelines.”

Hermione watched as Harry wandered over to Arthur. When they began to chat in low voices that she couldn't hear, she turned her attention away. Ginny was nowhere to be seen and she guessed that she'd gone into the kitchen to help Molly prepare tea. She was little surprised that George wasn't there to meet her. But if she was honest, she was glad that she didn't have to see him yet. She wasn't sure what she was going to say to him. 

Tiredness crawled at her but she fought it. Determined to stay a wake for as long as possible. She managed until Molly brought out the tea things. And then she tipped forward and conked out. 

When she woke, hours later, it was dark and she was lying in a bed. It was soft and warm and familiar. She sighed into the dark. Eyes straining to adjust. Then she heard it.   
Breathing. 

A slow steady rhythm that matched her own. For a moment she almost convinced herself that she was imagining it. That it was her own breath somehow circling the room and seeping back into her ears. But she knew it wasn't, because her own breathing was now sawing in and out of her throat, in a unsteady rush. Yet that other breath, remained the same. Steady and calm.

“Who is that?” She whispered, having an awful feeling that she knew. 

No answer. 

Hermione twisted her head frantically around, trying to locate whoever is was. “I know someone is here. Show yourself.”

A bright light erupted from the corner. Harsh and sudden enough to make her eyes snap shut. But even with them closed, she could still see it shining through her lids. Her body tightened with instant fear. And the worse thing was that she couldn't do anything. Not even lift her arm to block out the light. All she could do was lay there and wait. 

An unbearable ten seconds passed in utter silence. Until finally her eyes had adjusted enough for her to open them. Her worst fear was confirmed. Bartemius Crouch Junior was standing in the corner of the room watching her. She couldn't see him properly, the light from his wand prevented that. But she knew it was him. She could feel it.

She licked her suddenly dry lips, “What are you doing?” 

“I'm keeping an eye on you Hermione.” His voice sounded flat and emotionless. Bored even. 

“Why?” She said, trying to focus beyond the wand's light. She could make out his shape, but no features. 

His head cocked to the side, “Molly Weasley told me too.”

“She told you to watch me sleep?” Hermione asked in disbelief and worry. 

“She told me to keep an eye on you.” He said in that same monotone. 

Hermione tried to shuffle herself up the bed. She moved an inch before she give up, “I don't think she meant for you to be in here.” She said, “Will you please lower your wand? I can't see a thing.” 

A minute passed. A long minute in which fear pressed against her and she was sure she was about to die. But then the light slowly, slowly dropped and she got her first look at him. Sharp, hawk like features, made more prominent by the light shining from below. Short brown hair, stood up in untidy tufts, like he'd constantly been running his hand through it, over and over again. His eyes looked almost black, but she knew them to be a deep brown, and filled with madness.   
None of these held her attention for longer than a second. But the collar did. Thick metal rippling with black sparks. She couldn't keep her eyes from it. Not even when he crept closer. It was only when he stood beside the bed that she came back to herself and realized he was hovering over her. Waiting.

Her heart clenched and her eyes widened in alarm. His eyes coolly regarded her without emotion. Dead, doll eyes. Harry's earlier words came back to her, 'don't look him in the eye'.

She snapped her gaze down and landed on his thin lips. As she watched, his tongue darted out to touch the corner of his mouth. A quick motion, there and gone in the blink of an eye.

“I...” She swallowed the lump in her throat, “I don't need you to look over me. You should go.” 

“But I have my orders.” His head tipped forward, “You wouldn't want me to get punished would you?”

Hermione shook her head, she could feel herself trembling and her back was wet with sweat. “No. But I don't want you watching me either.” She said. 

“I've been watching you for the past four hours, you didn't mind then.” A smile played around his narrow mouth. He was laughing at her. 

“Well. I do now.” She said, slightly affronted and wondering if she should shout out for Molly or Arthur. 

“Then perhaps we should put you back to sleep.” A pale hand lifted to caress her neck, fingers curling around her slim throat. 

“Don't...” His hand tightened, cutting off her words. 

Hermione tried in vain to lift her hand, to defend herself. But all she could do was plead silently with her eyes as his fingers clenched. Not enough to cut off her air, but enough to prevent her from speaking. 

She blinked and felt a tear leak from the corner of her eye and trickle into her hair. She had never been so afraid in her life. Not even during those terrifying years at Hogwarts or months spent searching for the horcrux. All he need do was squeeze and her life would be over. And she couldn't do anything to prevent him.  
Her heart beat furiously in her chest as he began to lean down, his face creeping close until it filled her vision. Warm breath touched her face. “I can smell your fear.” His eyes traced her face as he spoke. Then suddenly his tongue was swiping the tears from her skin, “taste it too.” 

A sob lodged itself in her throat. Unable to pass the soft press of his fingers. Hermione closed her eyes, getting away from him the only way she could. And then, quite suddenly, he released her. She gasped, cool air, sweeping into her mouth. When she dared to open her eyes, she saw him walking casually to the door. The last she saw was his back as he left the room.

 

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	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

 

Hermione was exhausted. She'd barely slept and what little she did, was filled with sinister dreams of faceless figures bending over her. Several times she'd woken, convinced she could feel cool fingers circling her throat. Shutting off her air. But when she frantically searched the room there was nobody to be seen. She almost wept when dawn came, at last showing her the rooms shadowy corners. He wasn't there. The breath left her in a rush, so fast she felt dizzy. Her stiff muscles relaxed, and the fear receded, instantly replaced by shame. 

She had turned into what she most despised in the world. A weak, feeble girl. Her lips curled into a sneer. Aimed entirely at herself. She'd let fear overcome her, to the point where she'd been unable to think clearly. She should have just called out for Molly or Arthur. If it happened again, she would. 

But when she remembered the odd conversation she'd had with Barty, she frowned. He'd actually done everything she'd asked him to. When she'd asked him to show himself, he had. And when she'd demanded he lowered his wand, he'd done that too. She should have just asked him to leave. If what she suspected was true, then he would have had to do whatever it was that she asked of him.

Regardless, she would tell Molly to ban him from her room. And she would ask for her wand back. She wouldn't sleep without it again. Not ever. Around her the house began to stir. Quiet sounds at first, the shuffle of feet, low conversation, the rush of water running through ancient pipes. Then louder. Molly shouting for George to get up, Arthur whistling off key, footsteps outside her door. 

Her breath stilled, as her gaze settled on the gap at the bottom of the door. It was him. She knew it was. Who else would hover outside her room like that? The handle turned and she narrowed her eyes, ready to tell him he couldn't come in. The door swung open. 

“Ah. You're awake.” Molly bustled into the room. Tea towel clenched in her hand. “Now, do you need the loo?”

Hermione nodded. Feeling oddly deflated. She'd been ready to face Barty. To prove to herself that she wasn't afraid of him. That his intimidation wouldn't work on her again. Now she would have to wait until she next saw him. 

She managed to lift her arm and place it over Molly's shoulder almost without thinking about it. When she realized what she'd done a delighted smile curled her lips. Molly bobbed her head in satisfaction. 

“See, you're getting better already.” She said, tugging Hermione to the edge of the bed and helping her to stand. Her legs were weak and wobbled under her, but with Molly holding most of her weight she was able to shuffle to the bathroom.

Molly left her alone to use the loo and wash up, before returning to help her downstairs. Hermione was pleased and somewhat gratified to learn that she wouldn't be confined to bed and forgotten about. 

Arthur was already seated at the table when they entered the kitchen, but he immediately jumped up when he saw them and helped Hermione take a seat. It was only when Molly was filling her bowl with thick grey porridge, (that Hermione doubted she'd be able to eat,) that she noticed Barty in the living room.  
He was standing next to the fireplace, staring into space. His hands were clasped behind his back and he was swaying gently from side to side. He was dressed top to toe in crumpled black clothes. The collar stood out from his pale skin, and when she traced the sparkling edges, she could see where his skin was red and bruised from the unforgiving metal. He had other bruises on his hands and face. But these were faint like they'd happened a few days ago and were now only a memory. Hermione continued to study him from the corner of her eye, wishing that Arthur had put her in one of the other seats. One where she wouldn't be able to see him and the evidence that he'd been punished. But the Burrow was so open plan, that she doubted even then, he'd be hidden completely from view.  
Her gaze shifted to the stodgy porridge in front of her. Her appetite had fled the moment she'd noticed Barty. But even if she wanted to eat it she wouldn't be able too, her arms had turned to sponge again. 

“Did you sleep well Hermione?” Arthur asked, buttering some toast.

“Yes, although at one point I thought someone was in my room.” She eyed Barty as she spoke. He'd stopped swaying but otherwise remained unchanged. She wouldn't tell them he'd been in her room. Not after seeing those marks on his skin. 

“A dream?” Molly said sitting next to Hermione, “Perhaps the move unsettled you.” She scooped up some of the porridge and lifted it to Hermione's lips.

Hermione tilted her head back, “I don't think I can manage that.” She glanced pleadingly at Arthur, “I'm supposed to eat liquid food for a few more days at least.” Knowing that Molly wouldn't be satisfied until she'd eaten something.

“Pah, you won't get well on that!” Molly said, trying once again to feed her porridge that had the consistency of chewing gum.

“Now Molly, don't force the girl.” He took a loud slurp of tea and winked at Hermione, “I'd say your spring soup is what Hermione here needs.” 

“Yes, that sounds wonderful!” Hermione said, “If it's not too much trouble.” She quickly added not wanting to be a bother. 

“Of course not,” Molly jumped to her feet, “I have a fresh batch in the pantry.” She shuffled away and Hermione tried not to make her sigh of relief too loud. 

Arthur chuckled, “She means well.” He set his cup down and took one last bite of toast. “I must love you and leave you I'm afraid, my work won't do itself, much as I wish it would!”  
Hermione smiled faintly. He was honestly one of the kindest people she knew. Able to instantly make her feel at ease. Her smile lasted until he past Barty. A frown took its place when she saw Arthur viciously poke the Death Eater in the chest. He hissed something to the impassive Barty, before grabbing a handful of floo powder and disappearing into the fireplace. 

Silence fell. Thick with tension and hostility. 

Hermione dared a quick look at Barty. He was absolutely furious. His jaw ticking and body quivering. His eyes had darkened to almost black and they remained fixed and unblinking on the air in front of him. She could actually feel the rage oozing out of him. It was both terrifying and fascinating at the same time. She dropped her gaze before he could sense her attention. She didn't want to see those hate filled eyes looking her way. 

Thankfully Molly arrived, carrying a large bowl of steaming soup. She spoon fed Hermione until the witch felt bloated and close to bursting. 

“Thank you, I've had enough now.” Hermione said sinking back into the chair. “Is George not coming down?” 

Molly huffed, “he'll still be asleep I should imagine. He was out late last night and won't be up until goodness knows when.” She was shaking her head, “Sometimes I despair of him, I really do.” 

Hermione forced a smile, aware of the still seething Barty just a few feet away. His anger was practically pulsating around them, but oddly enough Molly seemed unaware of it. Or at least unconcerned. 

Molly stood up and began to tidy away the dishes, swishing her wand about in quick precise moments. 

“Oh! That reminds me,” Hermione said, “Can I have my wand back? I don't feel right without it.” 

“Yes, of course.” Molly rushed into the living room, “But make sure you don't overexert yourself.” She opened a drawer, searched about for a second and then finally withdrew 

Hermione's wand. “Here we are, Dear.” She said passing it to the curly haired witch. 

"Thanks.” Hermione said managing to lift her hand enough to take it. As soon as her fingers touched the smooth wood she felt calmer. More like her old self. “I think I'd like to go rest for a little while, if that's okay?” 

“It is. I want you to treat this place as your home.” She patted Hermione's cheek softly, “and if ever you need anything, just ask.” Molly clapped her hands, “Barty? Take Hermione to her room.” Her expression turned fierce, “and you'll know about it if you drop her.”

Hermione's stomach clenched and her grip on her wand tightened. “That isn't necessary,” Her voice rose as she saw Barty begin to walk towards her. “I...I'll just wait here for a bit...ahh.” Barty reached down and lifted her from the chair. He managed it surprisingly easily. 

Molly was frowning, “he can't hurt you. And he has to do what ever you say, but if you do have any problems, be sure to tell one of us so he can be disciplined.” She switched her attention back to the table, “now off you go.” 

Hermione's breath stilled as Barty's fingers dug painfully into her. Was Molly really so unaware that she was poking a stick at a dangerous animal? Did they honestly think that he was safe?

It was awful being so close to him. She could feel the tension stiffening his muscles. See his sharp features held in check. Barely.   
When he began to walk them upstairs, it was with a slow measured stride. Hermione had never felt so awkward in her entire life. It was like being carried by a robot. Only more scary and with the potential for violence. And she could tell that he wanted to hurt her. Badly. It was the way his fingers were clenched. And the way he was refusing to look at her. Not to mention how he made sure that her head and feet banged on the wall on the way up. 

She was little confused by that. Both Molly and Ginny had said that he couldn't hurt her and yet, last night and right now, he was hurting her. Even if it was just a small pain. Her eyes dropped to the collar. It was sparking. Not just black as she had seen it before, but white as well. They reached the top of the stairs and he twisted sharply, banging her ankle bone on the wall. She hissed in pain, narrowing her eyes when a bright flash of white sparked from his collar at the precise moment her foot had hit. He shuddered. A tiny movement that she only noticed because he was holding her so close. 

Her eyes widened. It was hurting him. The collar. Because he was hurting her. That's what Molly and Ginny meant. Hurting someone else meant hurting himself. It should have made her feel better. Safer. In fact all it did was make her more worried. Because the truth was, that if he really wanted to, he could hurt her.

She lifted her eyes and saw the hint of a smirk hovering around his lips.

“How much does it hurt?” She asked, jabbing her chin at his neck. 

He stopped walking, pausing just beside her doorway. His head slowly turned and he regarded her coolly. 

“Ask me to show you.” His bland voice invited.

Hermione scoffed, “never going to happen.” She shifted in his arms, uncomfortable with his stare, “You can move now.” She muttered.  
He began walking again, stopping when he reached the bed and placing her on the mattress. For a long moment they stared at each other. Or rather Hermione stared at his forehead, still not wanting to meet his eyes. Although she kept forgetting and would meet his gaze when she least expected to.

She clenched her wand more tightly in her fist, seeking courage. “And I would prefer it if you wouldn't come into my room without my permission again.”   
Barty's jaw clenched and she saw the exact moment his eyes became edged with madness. 

He leant down until his lips were next to her ear, “I can take a lot of pain Hermione, I want you to think about that very carefully before you begin issuing orders.” 

And then he was gone. Slamming the door closed behind him. 

She spent the rest of the morning mulling over the soft threat he'd issued. She didn't doubt in the least that if he really wanted, he could hurt her badly before the collar could stop him. 

The afternoon was spent with Molly, who rubbed the detested lotion on her body and filled her in on the news of the past three years. They avoided talk of Ron and instead focused on the other Weasley's and Hermione's friends from Hogwarts. It was then that Molly mentioned that Luna had been asking to visit her. Hermione nodded eagerly. Molly had smiled and gone to floo the blonde right then and there. An hour later Luna arrived. 

“Hello Hermione, I'm very glad to see you awake.” Luna said from the doorway. 

Hermione blinked. Not from hearing Luna, who she'd been expecting, but from seeing her. Or rather seeing what she was wearing. It was purple. And skin tight. And it had silver stars embroidered up the sides of the legs. Her hair was its usual long floaty self. 

“Umm...hello?” Hermione said, feeling utterly bemused as the blonde swayed towards her and sat on the bed. 

Luna smiled serenely, “I visited you at St. Mungo's, but I don't expect you remember?”

“No.” Hermione said.

“Oh well. You were very deeply asleep. Did the riffler's bother you at all?”

“Umm...” Hermione shook her head ever so slightly, “I don't think so.”

Luna cocked her head, “That's good, you don't want a riffler playing with your head, they're ever so hard to get rid of.” Her wide blue eyes searched the room as she spoke. “And you're going to need your head when we begin to free the Death Eaters.” 

“What?” She stared Luna, “I don't know what you're talking about.” 

“But surely you've been told the Death Eaters are slaves now.”

Hermione nodded hesitantly. “I'm not sure what I can do though.” She said cautiously, “or even that I should do anything at all.” 

“Once you've seen how they're treated you'll want to do something Hermione, you won't be able to stop yourself.” Luna glanced at the door and lowered her voice, “they can't see it.”

“What can't they see?” Hermione whispered.

“How the evil is creeping back into our world.” She blinked owlishly, “It's the Ministries doing, they tell us to do those awful things, to punish the Death Eaters. But it's lies, all lies.”

Hermione's brow scrunched up in thought, “Ginny said the punishments are working, that some of them are responding.” 

“Yes, I've heard that too.” Luna brushed a hand through her soft hair, making it float. “It's strange that the only Death Eaters making a recovery, are the slaves that belong to the very ministers who are telling us why and how to punish them to begin with.”

A feeling of dread began to creep up on Hermione. “But why does everyone allow it to happen? I just don't understand.” She tapped her fingers against her wand, “Harry said the Ministry are monitoring people.” 

“Yes. It's quite clever really. They're using the same tactics that Voldermort used, only nobody sees it.” Luna was staring into space, a thoughtful look on her face, “or they're afraid to” She shook her head, “Regardless, we live in more fear and paranoia now, than we did during the war.”

“That's all very well Luna, but if it's really that bad, then what on earth am I supposed to do?” Hemione said, frustration evident in her voice.

Luna smiled in delight, “You'll think of something. You are Hermione Grange after all.”

“Don't be ridiculous. I can barely walk never mind lead a rebellion! I have no memory of the last three years and the last memory I do have of Death Eaters, is of them trying to kill me.” Her voice wobbled slightly but she carried on, “I don't think I can help them Luna, it's not that I don't want too, I just don't know what it is you think I can do.” 

The blonde witch looked sad for a moment, “Will you promise to at least think about it?” 

“I don't need to promise you that Luna. I already am.” 

“Then I need to tell you one last thing.” She reached forward to clasp Hermione's hand, “You can't let anyone know how you feel about all this. You can't show disgust or sympathy or outrage, you must watch the punishments happen and not say a word.”

“Luna...”

The blonde tightened her grip on Hermione's hand, “Things happen to those who oppose the Ministry Hermione.”

“What kind of things?” 

Luna shrugged, “Accidents or they disappear for a while. But they're never the same when they come back.” 

Anger swelled in Hermione's stomach, “How could the Order have let this happen? Why didn't they stop it?”

“It all happened so slowly that it was hardly noticeable at first, and the Ministry was so very convincing,” Luna paused and cocked her head, “I think the Qaudgwarks were helping them,” Hermione blinked as Luna continued, “and everyone really does believe that punishing the Death Eaters is helping them to change. They have to believe it.”

“Do you have a Death Eater working for you.” Hermione asked. 

Luna's bell like giggle rang out, “Oh, goodness no. Neville and I didn't want one.” 

“Neville? Are you together?”

Luna nodded, “he declared his love during the battle. It was terribly romantic and of course, now you're awake, we can get married.” 

Hermione felt a smile curl her lips, “you waited until I woke up? But how did you know that I ever would?” 

“A fairy told me,” Luna jumped to her feet, “on the night of a full moon. Now I must go. I have a wedding to arrange!” She bent down to kiss Hermione's cheek, “You will remember what I said? About not letting anyone see how upset the punishments make you? It really is important.”

Hermione nibbled on her lip before reluctantly bobbing her head in agreement, “okay.”

“Good. And it's really quite fortunate that you have a Death Eater here you can talk to.” Luna said.

“Are you mad? I'm not talking to Barty about any of this. He's insane.” Hermione said.

Luna's face did that far away look again, “Yes I suppose he is, but if you could get past all that, I think he'd be quite useful.” 

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. She was still shaking it when Luna left the room. As if she could ever get past Barty's insanity. Or hatred. Or creepiness. It would never happen. Ever. 

 

This felt like a bit of a slow/filler chapter when I was writing it. But I really wanted to for everyone to have an understanding of why Hermione will seemly witness some of the punishments, bad treatment of the Death Eaters and not do anything to stop it. At least at the moment ;)


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Hermione didn't see Barty for the next week. She was glad. His absence allowed her to recover without his oppressive presence hanging over her. She hadn't seen George either, which was starting to worry her. When she'd asked Molly where he was, the Weasley matriarch had shifted her eyes and muttered something unintelligible. Hermione was starting to suspect that he was avoiding her. Maybe because she brought back memories of Fred. Or he was simply afraid that she would burst into tears when she saw him. He was right. She would have done. Fred's death was still too fresh for her not to feel the pain of it. 

With only Hermione to fuss over, Molly had managed to get the curly haired witch to stumble around the Burrow on her own, albeit with the help of the walls to prop her up. And she wasn't sleeping nearly as much either. Although when she did, it was always deep and dreamless. 

Now she was seated at the kitchen table shelling peas, whilst Molly was kneading bread. Harry and Ginny were coming for dinner and she couldn't wait to see them. They'd spoken of course, through the floo, but this would be the first time she'd be seeing them since leaving St. Mungo's. 

Luna had visited once. They hadn't spoken of the Death Eaters. But they had spoken of the wedding. Luna had some pretty...interesting...ideas about the ceremony. Hermione wasn't sure if half of it was even possible. She did know that Neville wouldn't go far the au natural look that Luna wanted. She would bet her right arm that he wouldn't want to declare his love for her with his tackle on show. 

She was just finishing the last of the peas when the Floo came to life. She twisted her head to see George emerge from the fireplace. Relief flooded her when she saw that he looked the same. Older, yes, a little frayed around the edges, but still the same George that she remembered. For some reason, after everything she'd been hearing she'd expected him to be different, someone she wouldn't recognise. 

The Floo flared green again and Barty stepped out. The smile that had begun to curl her lips, faded. His face was covered in bruises. Deep purple black. One of his eyes was swollen shut and his bottom lip was split, near the corner. She dropped her gaze to his hands. They were red and several of his knuckles scabbed over.

The breath left her. Her stomach threatened to rebel, and she could feel the burn of impending tears. 

“Granger.” George said, shuffling awkwardly towards her. 

She nodded and whipped back around to face her peas. Inside she was screaming. “Umm...I think I'll just get some air,” She said standing on wobbly feet.

Molly was frowning, “Do you feel okay dear? You've gone very pale.” 

Hermione nodded, “Yes, yes, I just, it was a shock,” she flicked her gaze at George, “Seeing you.”

George ruffled a hand through his hair, “Yeah, I should have come to see you sooner but...” he shrugged and avoided her eyes. 

“It's fine.” she said stepping towards the door. Her legs were shaking and threatening to buckle. 

“Barty, help Hermione outside and stay with her until she feels better.” Molly said thumping the bread dough viscously. 

“No!” Hermione said desperately. “I can manage.” But Barty had already crossed the distance and wrapped his fingers around her arm. He was pulling her towards the door before she could make any more protests. As he led her away she could hear Molly hissing something at George. And his angry mumbled reply.

It was warm outside and sunny. Only a few clouds marring the perfect blue sky. The grass beneath her feet was crisp and green. She didn't look at Barty. Not even when he shoved her onto a rickety wooden bench. She felt sick. And stupid. 

They'd told her. All of them. About the punishments. But she'd somehow convinced herself that they couldn't be that bad. That her friends weren't capable of such cruelty. That it was all a terrible mistake. Her eyes blurred and she clenched her jaw to prevent the tears from spilling over. 

“What happened to you?” She said staring at the horizon. 

Barty shifted until he was standing in front of her. “Pretending to care are we?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, “I'm not pretending anything,” she traced her way up his narrow chest, passed the collar and over the bruised contours of his face, “What happened?” 

“The Weasley brat lost his temper.” He said dismissively. 

Hermione frowned, “What! But I thought you were only supposed to be punished if you did something wrong?”

Barty stared absently at his knuckles. “I was the reason he lost his temper.”

“You hit him?” She said incredulous.

“Not him, someone else.”

She titled her head back, “why?” She had to force herself to look at him. At his swollen eye. 

He was swaying again, a gentle shifting of weight from foot to foot. “I didn't like the way he was looking at me.” 

Hermione blinked and dropped her gaze. He'd attacked someone for looking at him. That was bad. Maybe Harry was right. She shouldn't look him in the eye. But she kept forgetting. And he didn't speak as if he were mad. His conversations made sense. She could follow what he was saying, unlike most of the times she spoke to Luna. 

She sat in a horrible tense silence as he stared at the top of her head. She could feel him trying to seep into her brain and figure out her secrets. When she couldn't stand it any longer, she snapped up and marched towards the Burrow. She made it five steps before her legs gave out and she sank to the ground. Which was utterly humiliating, because it happened in slow motion. Like some insipid Victorian woman, overcome by the heat.

Measured footsteps came towards her, “Do you need some help Hermione?”

She scowled at his bland tone. “If you wouldn't mind.” She bit out. 

“Actually I do. I find I like seeing you at my feet. A Mudblood crawling in the mud, tis fitting don't you think?”  
Hermione scoffed, “Three years and you're still using that old line?” She looked up to give him a disgusted glare. Honestly, she'd heard it too many times to let it bother her anymore. 

He wore an amused look. Or at least she thought he did. It was hard to tell passed all the dark smudges. But he definitely looked on the verge of smirking. She was surprised when he offered her his hand. So surprised that she didn't at first take it. Looking for a trick. For a hint of deceit. When he continued to stand there, hand outstretched, face blank, she reluctantly took it. His hand was smooth and strong as he pulled her up. Which would have been fine if her legs weren't still the consistency of jelly. But they were, which meant Barty had to loop her arm around his shoulders and tuck her into his side to prevent her from kissing the floor again.

It was honestly the most uncomfortable she'd ever been. Held by an unstable Death Eater. A Death Eater whom attacked people who looked at him the wrong way. A Death Eater whose arm felt surprisingly steady around her waist. She thrust that thought firmly to the back of her mind. Thinking of him in any way other that dangerous would be foolish. 

They made it to the Burrow in short time. Barty depositing Hermione on a chair in the living room. George was gone and she couldn't say she was disappointed. Molly was still working on her bread, thumping it a little harder than before. 

“Barty?” She barked out, “Clean the house. I want it spotless by tonight.”

Hermione shifted in her chair. Trying not to watch as Barty gave a mocking bow and withdrew his wand. He made cleaning the living room look easy, flicking the wand around like he was conducting an orchestra. It was oddly compelling. And he was using more than a few spells she didn't recognise. But he was also quickly losing his temper. His control over the spells started to slip and what had been done with finesse only minutes before, was now clumsy. 

She was glad when he moved on and out of her view. It gave her chance to think. About her promise to Luna and about whether or not she'd be able to live with herself if she did nothing to help the Death Eaters. What alarmed her the most was the indifference shown by Molly at the sight of Barty's bruised skin. Was that how everyone now behaved? She shook her head. That would never be her. And to make sure, she needed to stop hiding. From herself, from Ron and from this new Wizarding world. 

The entire afternoon was spent making notes and lists. All in her head of course. If what Luna and Harry had said was true, then she'd have to be very careful. But not so much that she drew attention. Anyone who knew her would know that she would have some concerns about what was happening. To pretend otherwise would only make people more suspicious. So some questions would be expected. And she sure as hell had a lot of bloody questions. 

“Hermione?” Molly's voice interrupted her thoughts. “Harry and Ginny will be here soon, you have just enough time to change and wash if you wish.”

“Yes. I think I will.” She pushed to her feet, grateful that her legs were working again. As she made her way upstairs she thought about the first part of her plan. Hermione needed to see another Death Eater. Someone who wasn't quite as unpredictable as Barty was. She had just the perfect one in mind. Draco Malfoy. The only problem was that it would mean seeing Ron and Lavender. But she needed to see them at some point anyway, so she might as well get it over with. Besides the longer she left it, the more nervous she'd become. 

Now that she'd made some plans, she actually felt better. Like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She didn't feel so helpless any more. After a quick splash, she changed into fresh jeans and a pale blue jumper. Her hair she tucked into a bun. Which was harder than it used to be, because it had grown so much longer. It seemed like it had only be cut sporadically during her coma and now hung to the small of her back. But at least the added weight pulled the curls somewhat straighter and it wasn't nearly as wild anymore.   
Satisfied that she looked okay, Hermione made her way back down stairs. Arthur had arrived and was sitting at the table drinking a cup of tea. He returned her wave but she didn't join him, instead choosing to join George in the living room. Barty was nowhere to be seen. 

She sat down next to him, sinking into the squashy cushion, “I'm sorry about before, seeing you was a shock.” 

George huffed out a laugh, “It's fine, I often have that effect.” 

Hermione stretched her lips into a smile, “Seeing Barty surprised me too.” She said watching his reaction carefully. A slight wince. Unnoticeable if she hadn't been looking so carefully. But she had, and she'd seen it. She frowned. That tiny flash of guilt didn't tie in with what she'd been hearing about him. 

“Yeah.” He muttered fiddling with the seam of his pants. “He attacked another Death Eater.” 

Hermione swung her knee up on the chair and shifted to face him, “but doesn't the collar prevent that?” 

George shook his head, making his hair tumble into his eyes, “No, the collar only works for those who are named on the deeds. So all us Weasley's, and now you, are written on Barty's, that means that he can't hurt us.”

Hermione couldn't prevent the snort that left her. “Can't?” She said. 

“Well, not unless he wants to feel like every bone in his body is breaking.” George answered wryly. 

“But he can hurt others?” 

George nodded. 

“Just Death Eaters? Or Witches and Wizards as well?” She said noting him shifting uncomfortably. 

“Both.” He said, making to get up.

Hermione reached across to grab his arm, “Wait!” George looked at her hand and frowned, “I know I'm not supposed to ask questions. But if I don't ask, then how am I supposed to know?” 

“You're right, but you should probably ask Harry this stuff.” He said clearly discomforted. 

Hermione nodded and let go of him, “Okay.” Before he could step away, she softly called him back, “I'm sorry about Fred.” His face shut down, all expression wiped clean. “He was my favourite.” She added. 

For a moment he stared at her, slightly incredulous. But then the corner of his mouth turned up the smallest amount, “Mine too.” he said before turning away and joining Arthur at the table. 

It was at that moment that Ginny and Harry arrived. Hermione jumped up and rushed to give them both a hug. “It's so good to see you!”

“You too,” Harry said grinning. 

Ginny rolled her eyes and looped her arm through Hermione's, “So how have you been?”

“Better.” Hermione led them towards the kitchen, “I think I'm ready to do some visiting.” 

Harry's eyes widened comically, “That's...good?” 

“Yes. I'II come back with you tonight, say hello to Ron.” She said, pretending she didn't notice the sudden silence around the table. “This looks lovely Molly.” she added. 

“Thank you Dear,” Molly forced out and taking her seat, opposite Arthur, “Shall we?”

Everyone nodded, eagerly filling their plates with Molly's roast chicken and potatoes. The sound of cutlery and chewing was the only noise for the next few minutes. And that was another thing Hermione had noticed. The Weasley's didn't talk as much as she remembered. They weren't as relaxed around the table. As if they suspected someone of listening in. 

“How's work Harry?” She asked.

“Okay.” He said. 

Hermione blinked at the short and concise answer. “Well, what are you working on?”

More shifting. 

“Harry's not allowed to talk about his work, Mione.” Ginny said, “Dad either.” She added. 

“Why not?” She said, putting down her folk and regarding him quizzically.

It was Arthur who shifted forward and answered her, “The Ministry had us sign confidentiality contracts, they forbid us from discussing our work with civilians.” 

“Civilians? You make it sound like you're in the army.” She scoffed.

Molly chucked. “What an idea!” She picked up a plate of carrots, “Have some more Harry.” 

Hermione watched as he scooped some onto his plate. His eyes were flicking nervously around the table, bouncing from one person to another. He didn't look at Hermione. “I'm sorry, I won't ask again.” She said, noting that everyone relaxed at her words. “But I am still curious at the Death Eater thing.” Instant tension again.

“Mione, I already told you about this.” Ginny said.

Molly swung forward, “It really isn't worth getting upset over.”

Harry stood up, “Come walk with me.” he said circling the table to pull Hermione to her feet. 

She frowned. How on earth had a few innocent questions turned into everyone looking at her as if she were a loose cannon? She said nothing as Harry led her to a bench and sat down. 

“Sit.” he ordered softly, so unlike his usual laid back self. 

Hermione sat, close enough that her leg brushed his. 

“When I said we can't talk about this, I meant it.” he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly, “It's part of the magic that binds us to the contract. Any time we discuss something that the Ministry hasn't approved, a ping sounds back at the M.O.M. And we'll be called in to explain ourselves.” He grimaced, “If they don't like the answer or believe our report, they bring in our friends and family and ask them what they know. Under the influence of truth serum.” 

Hermione gasped. “That's...awful.” She reached across to grasp his hand. “I'm not trying to get you into trouble, there's just so much I don't understand.” 

Harry nodded. “I know that, but most of the questions you have I won't be able to answer.” 

“Okay.” She nibbled on her lip, “Who will?”

He huffed out a laugh, “I have no idea.” 

Hermione squeezed his hand, “I want to ask you one thing though,” seeing his frown she rushed on, “It's okay if you can't answer.”

Harry nodded his head cautiously.

“You know I don't like this Death Eater slave thing,” she licked her dry lips as he bobbed his head, “I think I'd feel better if I could meet one whose been rehabilitated. To see that the punishments work.” Or don't, she silently added.

“The Mclaggen family have Pansy Pakinson,” he tapped his knee, “She's close to being cleared.” 

Her nose scrunched up, “Not Cormac.”

Harry laughed, “Yeah, George hangs out with him sometimes, ask him to take you.” 

She nodded, “I will.” 

They sat quietly for a while. Each lost in their own thoughts. But more comfortable with each other. She understood a lot more now. Enough to know that she wouldn't involve any of her friends in any of this. With the exception of Luna. Who seemed to want to help. But even then she wouldn't do anything that would put her at risk. 

Hermione sighed, “We should get back.” 

“Yeah,” Harry stood up, “are you sure you're ready to see Ron?” 

“No.” She glared at the floor, “but I don't think I'll ever will be. And honestly, I just want to get it over with.”

He winced, “Ginny told me what happened.” 

A throb of almost pain settled in her stomach, “It doesn't matter anymore. Lavender's welcome to the selfish prat.” 

He snorted out a laugh and pulled her up. When they got back, dinner had been replaced by dessert. A large trifle that took up half of the table. Hermione sat down, smiling when Molly passed her a bowl full of messy goodness. This time they talked of nonsense things that meant nothing. 

“That was great Mum.” Ginny said pushing away her bowl and rubbing her perfectly flat stomach. “We should head off.” 

Molly stood up, “Okay Dear, and don't leave it so long until you come next time.” 

Ginny rolled her eyes and looked at Hermione, “You still want to come back with us?” 

Hermione nodded and walked towards them. 

“Wait!” Molly yelped turning to George, “Do you need Barty tonight?” 

George shook his head, “Nah, I'm not going out.” 

Hermione frowned, “I don't need him to go with me.” They did that eye tennis again. “Is this another thing I'm not supposed to ask about?” She said, a slight edge to her voice.

It was again Ginny that answered her, “No. You know that Barty can't hurt you?” 

Hermione nodded, “Yes, George explained about the deed thing.”

“Okay so you understand that he can't do you any harm,” Ginny said. “But another Death Eater could.” 

Hermione sank back onto the chair and rubbed her head, “Yes, kind of. Will you explain some more?” 

“It's the collars that control the Death Eaters magic, preventing them from casting the unforgivables and any dark spells, and it's the deeds that link the Death Eater to whatever family they're placed with,” Ginny crouched down next to her, “That Death Eater can't hurt the people listed on the deed, the collar prevents it. And part of the magic that holds them, means that they can't use magic on any witch or wizard.” 

Hermione said, “Okay. So how can a Death Eater hurt me then?”

“Without magic.” George said, “It basically means that another Death Eater could come up to you and smack you in the face.” 

“That's insanely stupid. Why not make it so they can't hurt anyone at all?” Hermione shook her head in disgust. 

“The spell won't allow that many people on the deed without the magic becoming weakened.” Arthur chipped in. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes, “Is Barty supposed to be some kind of bodyguard then?” 

Ginny nodded. “Yes.” 

“But Harry walks around without Draco, and Arthur goes to work without Barty everyday.” She said, getting a headache. Honestly why was it so complicated? 

Arthur clasped his hands behind his back, “Well, all Ministry employees are automatically listed on the deeds.” 

“So there's enough room for members for the Ministry but not everyone else?” Hermione said, not liking what she was hearing. 

Harry shifted to face her, “This would be one of those things we're not allowed to discuss.” 

Hermione scoffed, “Of course not!” She slapped her hands down on the table, “So, I have to rely on Barty to protect me from rampaging Death Eaters?”

“More like the other way around,” George muttered. 

“Shut up George.” Ginny said, “you wont be in any danger, you can use your magic to defend yourself, and if one happens to get to close to you, then on the back of each collar is a button that knocks them out if you press it.”   
Hermione huffed in a breath, trying to control her anger. The Ministry was up to something. She knew it, and she suspected deep down everyone else did too. Beside her Ginny stood up, “Still want to come back with us?” 

“Absolutely.” She said standing and following them to the floo. Molly called out for Barty as Harry stepped through. Then Ginny followed. Hermione had to wait for Barty to arrive before she could leave. He took his time and she huffed in annoyance. If he didn't hurry up she'd loose what little nerve she had. Finally he strolled through the back door, looking somewhat dishevelled. Guilt filled her, he'd probably been sleeping. Hermione averted her gaze, reaching instead for a handful of floo powder. 

“See that you mind Mione,” Molly said, “And behave.” she hissed to the sneering Barty. 

Hermione left before she could hear anything else. She emerged into the living room of Gimmauld place. Ron was there with Lavender. They were both standing. Each with a different expression on their face. Ron looked wide-eyed and panicked. Lavender was clinging to his arm with a self satisfied smile curving her lips. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes, “Hello Ronald.” She said coldly. 

A sliver of satisfaction warmed her as he swallowed audibly and flushed red. His gaze darted towards Harry, whom was studying the carpet very intently, and then to Ginny, whom was gleefully taking in his discomfort. It was then that Barty arrived, stepping forward to stand next to her. Ron paled and stumbled back.   
“Draco!” he yelped. 

Ginny had told her a few days ago that Ron had removed himself from Barty's deeds and added himself to Draco's. It had been done six months ago and he'd still to tell Molly. Was it wrong that she almost wished Barty would cross the room and punch him on the nose?

Hermione smirked and made her way towards a chair, sitting down so they wouldn't see how much she was shaking. The truth was that seeing Ron had knocked her for six. Like Harry, he was the same, but not the same. Ron had filled out, grown into his lankiness. But it stopped there. Whereas Harry had matured mentally, she could tell that Ron hadn't. He was still the same petulant, sulky boy he'd always been. 

She flicked her gaze away from him and the still clinging Lavender. It was a relief. She still felt betrayed, but she didn't quite care as much as she'd thought she would. Harry and 

Ginny had sat down, but Ron was still eyeing Barty, who'd begun to wander around the room as if he owned the place. It was then that Draco walked in. He looked as she remembered, except the sneer was replaced by bland indifference. And he wasn't wearing expensive clothes. That was probably pure torture for him in itself. The collar stood out starkly against the pale column of his throat. 

“Watch him,” Ron ordered pointing at Barty. 

Those Arctic grey eyes shifted from Hermione to look at the still wandering Barty. Draco shifted uneasily but kept his eyes trained on him. That probably wasn't a good idea. Even from across the room she could see Barty's spine had stiffened. 

Silence descended. A thick prickly silence that Hermione had no intention of breaking. When it became obvious that she wasn't going to speak, Ron shifted awkwardly. 

“Umm...you okay?” He asked wincing when Lavender dug her fingers into his thigh. 

Hermione gave him a polite, but meaningless smile, “Why wouldn't I be?” 

“Don't be silly Ron, Hermione's obviously fine.”Lavender said between clenched teeth. “Or she wouldn't be here. Although next time if you could let us know when you want to come visit, that would be brill.” 

Ginny swayed forward, “Hermione's welcome to come here whenever she wants,” Her voice was sharper than a knife, “and she doesn't need to book an appointment either.” She added. 

Hermione folded her lips against a giggle, she'd forgotten quite how cutting the youngest redhead could be. Ron looked on the verge of exploding and Harry clearly just wanted to disappear. Lavender was sniffing back fake tears. 

“I wonder if I might have a glass of water?” Hermione asked taking pity on them all. She didn't know what she'd expected, but this wasn't it. And looking at the death grip Lavender had on Ron, Hermione doubted she'd be able to speak with him privately anyway. 

Harry jumped up, “I'll get it.” 

Ginny cast Hermione a sly look, “I'll help you.” 

Hermione glared at her, which didn't do anything but make Ginny smile like a cheshire cat. When they'd gone she dropped her gaze to the shabby rug. It had a hole the size of a coin in the corner. She didn't know why but it made her sad. Shifting her gaze she focused on Barty. He had Draco backed into a corner. And it looked like he was whispering something to him. Whatever it was made Draco pale and shrink further away.

“You're not supposed to let them do that.” Lavender said.

Hermione glanced at her, “Do what?” 

“Intimidate others.” She said poking at Ron until he nodded in agreement.

Hermione turned slowly back to the two Death Eaters, “you're not intimidated are you Malfoy?” She asked, knowing that he was, but hating the thought of Lavender issuing her instructions. If she told her she had to punish Barty, she'd hex her into next week.

“No. Everything's good.” He forced out. 

Which impressed Hermione, especially as Barty was twitching and muttering incoherently inches from his face. 

“See. Every thing's good.” She smiled brightly as she spoke, noting the rising tension from the corner and praying she wasn't about to witness one of Barty's flip outs.   
Lavender frowned and batted her eyelashes at Ron. “Umm...maybe you could tell him to back off a bit?” He asked, looking everywhere in the room but at her. 

“You tell him to back off.” Hermione snapped, wondering where Harry and Ginny were. They could shove the water, she didn't want it anymore. 

“He won't listen to me.” Ron muttered so low Hermione had to lean forward to hear it.   
Lavender was looking at her with narrowed eyes, “Do you have a problem with disciplining Death Eater's Hermione?” 

Alarm bells started to ring in Hermione's head. That was a dangerous question, she could tell by the way Ron was nervously fidgeting and casting fleeting looks her way. 

Hermione pushed to her feet, “Of course not.” She started walking towards Barty and Draco, “I simply don't think that anything worth disciplining is happening.” She stopped beside them. “Barty!” she hissed as quietly as she could, “leave him alone!”

The breath left her as his attention switched to her. She ignored him, instead fixing Draco with a rather desperate look. She blurted out the first thing she could think of. “Do they let you see your parents?” 

He blinked, surprise replacing fear. “Are you serious?” he asked, eyes flicking to look over her shoulder. 

“Of course.” She said, pretending she didn't notice Barty inching closer to her. “Well. Do they?” 

“No.” He said his lips barely moving.

Hermione leaned into him, not only so she could whisper, but also to get some distance from Barty. “You ever try to take the collar off?” 

Before Malfoy could answer, Barty was breathing in her ear, “Dangerous questions little Bird, if anyone finds out, you might find your neck snapped in two.” 

She blinked and pulled away from them to face Ron and Lavender, “See? No problem.” Her legs were wobbling as she walked towards the floo, “I'm actually feeling a little tired, so I think I might just leave.” She gestured for Barty to come towards her, “Say bye to Ginny and Harry for me.”

Hermione didn't wait for them to reply, merely grabbed a handful of powder and stepped into the fire. Her hands were trembling badly and she was more than grateful that when she emerged, the Burrow appeared empty. She promptly fell to her knees and burst into tears. 

All of her fears, anger and frustration came pouring out. It was all so bloody unfair. More so, because Barty was witnessing her break down. She could see him, out of the corner of her eye. Drinking in her misery. Her hands tightened until her nails bit into the palms of her hand. The pain was good. It brought clarity.

Her gaze lifted to meet Barty's. “Are you really mad? Or is it all an act?” 

A smile played along his lips, “You're the only person to ever dare ask me that.” His dark eyes traced her wet cheeks.

“That isn't an answer.” She said.

“Then ask me another question.” 

Hermione cocked her head, eyes narrowing in thought. “Have you ever tried to remove your collar?” 

Barty's tongue darted out, a quick flick to the split on his bottom lip. “I have.”

“And?” She said

“It hurt.” Barty reached up to brush his fingers along the steel circling his neck. 

She opened her mouth to ask him more questions, when George thumped down the stairs. 

He stopped when he saw Hermione, “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” she flapped her hands about, “Just Ron and Lavender.” 

George grimaced, “Yeah, she has that affect.” he slumped down on a chair, “Mum can't stand her.” His deep blue eyes flicked to Barty. “You can go now.” 

The Death Eater gave a mock bow and left the Burrow.`

“Where's he going?” Hermione asked getting off the floor and sitting beside him. 

“He sleeps in the shed outside.” 

“A shed?” Hermione jumped up, “You make him sleep in a shed? That's completely outrageous!” She shook her head and backed away from him. This time she made it to her room before the tears began to fall.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

 

Barty was watching Hermione from his place next to the Floo. It was where he always stood. A place with no corners to trap him, or shadows to creep near. If he tried really hard he could feel the whole house pressing down on him. A weight pinning him to the crappy carpet. It was oddly comforting when madness was nipping at his heels. 

He blinked, tongue darting out to touch the side of his mouth. A habit he'd picked up from his time in Azkaban. His eyes narrowed as he began to sway. Darkness seeping into his vision. Thinking of his imprisonment always threatened to tip him over. Most times he could pull himself back from the brink, like now, when he concentrated on the way Hermione was shifting under his stare. He liked that. Making her nervous. But other times, he couldn't pull back, and that was when the bad things happened. Blood and death and screams. 

He sneered when her eyes flicked towards him. A quick glance that didn't settle on his person, but let her know that he hadn't moved and was still watching. Always watching. She was sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs and talking to Luna Lovegood. The blonde witch was talking about her wedding. Some nonsense about teaching owls to screech the wedding march. He'd lost interest and stopped listening a while ago. 

He shifted on his heels, and clasped his hands behind his back, a movement that drew Hermione's attention back to him again. Their eyes met for no more than a second, before she dropped her gaze back down to her knees. An almost panicked move that reeked of submission. No doubt the others had warned her against looking directly at him. He didn't like it. Being looked at. A phobia that had begun when forced to wear the invisibility cloak by his father. After so many years of being hidden, being ignored, feeling the weight of another's stare was...unsettling.

Barty closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. The air smelt faintly of baked bread, herbs and clean laundry. It was wholesome and comforting. Like the air was giving you a hug. He hated it. 

“Have you given...you know...anymore thought?” Luna said.

A tense silence. Suspicion caused Barty to snap open his eyes, he saw Hermione frantically shaking her head and flicking her eyes towards him. When she saw his dark eyes,   
narrowed and fixed on her, she again dropped her gaze, wringing her hands and biting her lip in agitation. He'd bet his right hand this had something to do with the questions she'd been asking the Malfoy brat last night. 

Luna crossed her legs and propped her chin on her hand, “Oh, okay. What have you got planned today?”

Hermione winced, “I've talked George into coming with me to visit Cormac Mclaggen.” 

“You want to see Pansy then?” Luna said, ignoring Hermione's exasperated expression. “That's good. It will help you decide.”

“Hush.” Hermione said, eyes darting around the room nervously. 

Luna smile gently, “There isn't anyone around to hear us.” She climbed to her feet, “Apart from George, but he's probably still sleeping.” The blonde wandered across the room to stand in front of Barty. “I always found your classes at Hogwarts to be very interesting. Was it terribly difficult pretending to be Madeye?” 

Barty sneered at the dreamy eyed witch. “Get her away from me.” He spoke to Hermione but kept his contemptuous look on the blonde. The urge to wrap his fingers around her slender throat was strong. He would squeeze and squeeze until the life left her and those insipid blue eyes turned dull. 

“Luna?” Hermione pulled on her arm, “come tell me more about the wedding. Have you chosen what colour your dress will be yet?”

“Well as you know, I don't want to wear one.” She frowned as Hermione led her back to the chair, “but Neville's insisting that I do. I rather like peach. What do you think?” 

“Peach would be lovely.” Hermione said casting a look at Barty beneath her lashes. 

He'd regained his composure, this time by digging his fingers into the deep bruises scattered along his back. The pain cleared his jagged thoughts and he returned his attention to Hermione. He wasn't sure what it was about her that had him so fascinated. Perhaps the emotion that played across her face so clearly. She seemed incapable of keeping anything hidden. Outrage, fear, disgust, joy, delight, all of it plainly displayed on her face for all to see. He recalled her unconcern at being called a Mudblood, she'd practically rolled her eyes at him. And it was those easy to read emotions that were going to get her killed. One wrong question, one answer she didn't like, and one Ministry spy to witness it. And Hermione Granger could count herself amongst the missing. 

He thought back to his time teaching her at Hogwarts. A skinny little creature with hideous hair and a bossy know-it-all attitude. Half the time she'd had her head buried in a book and the half was spent keeping Harry fucking Potter out of trouble. She wasn't the same though. Slim rather than skinny, and her hair was now a wild tumble of curls that begged to be tugged on. She was quieter too. Not so eager to shove her intelligence down everyone's throat.

Barty blinked his way back to the present, noting that the two witches were standing and hugging one another. He was skipping time again. 

“You'll let me know?” Luna said waving her hand in a vague motion. 

Hermione nodded, leading her to the Floo. Barty noted with mild amusement that she kept herself between the two of them. As if he couldn't simply fling her aside to get to the Lovegood girl if he chose. The brief dagger of pain would almost be worth it. The fire flared green as Luna stepped through, leaving them alone. 

A heavy silence fell between them. Thick enough that he could reach out and touch it. Mould it in his hands and throw it at the chintz teacups. Hermione twisted away from him, making her way out of the room. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, voice splitting the silence with deadly intent. 

Hermione froze, “I'm leaving.” She tossed over her shoulder. 

Barty hissed in irritation, “not now!” He strode towards her deliberately standing to close, “with that girl, and your questions.” He let his breath caress her cheek, “Are you going to set us free little bird?” 

Her back snapped straight, “I have no idea what you're talking about.” 

He shook his head. The lie in her voice was loud and clear. “I think you do.” He let his fingers trail up the line of her back, an almost touch that made her shiver and step away from him. “Learn to control your face Hermione. You'll disappear if you don't.”

She missed a step, but didn't turn around, nor did she stop walking. 

Yes, he was finding Hermione Granger to be very interesting indeed. 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Hermione spent the rest of the morning and afternoon in her room. She wasn't hiding. Not exactly. She was more thinking very carefully where nobody could see her. In another hour she'd be going to see Cormac. And she'd need to be cautious. George had told her that both Cormac and his father worked for the Ministry. This once she would take Barty's advice and control her face. 

She huffed in a breath, and brushed her shaking hand down the front of her shirt and jeans. They were casual, but smart, and comfortable enough that she didn't feel the need to constantly adjust them. Her hair she left free. Just in case she needed it to hide behind. Although in truth she wasn't to worried. Apart from the bruising decorating Barty, she hadn't seen anything that had truly alarmed her concerning the Death Eaters. She had her fingers crossed that she wouldn't see anything today either. 

A soft tap sounded at her door. “You ready Granger?”

Her stomach clenched in fear. “Yes.” 

Before opening the door she checked her wand one final time. Safe and ready to be drawn if needed. Feeling slightly sick she opened the door. George was frowning, feet shuffling and running a hand through his hair. He looked like she felt. 

“Okay. I'm ready.” She said stepping passed him.

“Wait.” He wrapped a hand around her arm, “I know what you're doing.” His fingers tightened, just short of pain, “But if this comes back on my family Granger, you and I are going to have a problem.”

Hermione looked him directly in the eyes. They were deep blue, bloodshot, and when she looked closely filled with grief. “I won't let that happen.” She reached up to touch his cheek, “You're the only family I've got left.” 

George nodded, a quick bob that made his hair flip forward and onto his forehead. “Let's go then.” 

She followed him down the stairs and into the living room. The entire time her heart was fluttering in the cage of her ribs like a wild bird. At one point she even pressed a hand to her chest to try and calm it down. Barty was waiting for them by the Floo. His face set in cruel lines. The swelling around his eye had receded somewhat, but he was still covered in various shades of black, purple and blue. 

“I'll go first.” George said, “then Barty.” He grabbed a handful of green powder, “Granger, you take up the rear. And remember what I said.” 

Hermione nodded, chewing on a nail and trying to control her nerves. It didn't work. She almost changed her mind altogether when George and then Barty disappeared. She held her breath, scooped up some of the Floo powder and threw it into the fire.

“Mclaggen House.” She firmly stated as she stepped into the fireplace.

The first thing she saw when she emerged was Cormac Mclaggen. He was standing on the edge of an expensive rug, expression slightly smug. The moment he saw Hermione he strode forward and drew her into a tight hug. She immediately stiffened at the sheer audacity of him. They barely knew each other. The prat had no right to greet her as if they were long lost friends. 

“Hermione.” Cormac pulled away from her, but kept his hands on her shoulders, “It's good to see you.” 

Hermione smiled politely and backed away. “Thanks. You too.” She said, taking a seat on a plush velvet couch next to George. It was then that she noticed Pansy. She was kneeling on the floor opposite them, next to a chair, head dipped so that her silky black hair covered her face. Her small frame was covered in a simple gold and red dress. Gryfinddor colours. 

George shifted beside her, “Go wait in the corner.” 

Hermione blinked, wondering who he was talking to. But then from the corner of her eye she saw Barty slowly make his way to the corner opposite them. His mocking gaze   
settled on her. She did her best to ignore him. 

“George told me you wanted to see Pansy.” Cormac said, easing into the chair next to the kneeling witch. He placed his hand on top of her head and rubbed.   
Hermione stared at that hand, at the way his pale fingers dug slightly into her scalp. Petting her as if she were a cat. Suddenly his fingers clenched, yanking on Pansy's hair and forcing her head up and back. The collar she wore was thinner than Barty's, but the blunt edges had still cut into her neck, leaving raw tattered skin. Her eyes were fixed and distant. Hermione shuddered. Pansy Parkinson was not rehabilitated. Pansy Parkinson was broken. 

George shifted, his foot knocking her ankle. “What?” She frantically tried to remember what she'd been asked. But her brain had turned to mush. She shifted her eyes away from Pansy and landed on Barty. He gave one sharp nod. 

“Yes.” She said forcing her gaze back to Cormac. He was watching her closely, green eyes narrowed ever so slightly. 

A sliver of ice tumbled down her spine. She had to be careful. The rising tension in the room was palpable and what she said next would decide on whether Cormac reported her to the Ministry or not. Pulling in a steadying breath she said, “I won't lie to you. This is something that I'm uneasy with.” The tension increased. She grimaced and tipped forward,   
“Do you remember the house elf rights thing I did at Hogwarts?”

Cormac grinned, “S.P.E.W.” He eased back in the chair, crossing his leg, resplendent in his arrogance. “Your passion for that cause was both puzzling and attractive.”   
George huffed out a laugh, “It was pretty funny Granger.” 

Hermione shrugged, fighting the urge to be sick. She had the awful feeling Cormac was trying to flirt with her. Surely he didn't still fancy her, it had been three years for goodness sake.“Yes. Well. I think that if I know the punishments are working, that the Death Eaters can be rehabilitated, then I won't feel so uncomfortable with it all.” It was a lie. Spoken out of desperation. She would never be comfortable with this. No matter what evidence they gave her to prove their point.

Cormac regarded her for a long second, his gaze tracking up and down her body in one slow appraisal. She grit her teeth, aware of the mounting silence. 

“A demonstration then?” He asked, cocking his head. 

Hermione nodded, a sense of dread building inside of her. She was more than aware of George shifting beside her, clearly discomforted by what was about to happen. Barty's gaze felt like a weight pushing down on her shoulders but she didn't dare look at him.

“Pansy?” Cormac waited for the black haired witch to tilt her head. “Go kiss Hermione's feet.”

The world narrowed as Hermione fought the urge to be sick. “Is that necessary?” Her voice sounded distance and oddly distorted. This was her worst nightmare come to life. 

Cormac chuckled. “It is if you want proof that the rehabilitation works.”

Hermione barely heard him because she had her eyes fixed on Pansy, who had begun to crawl towards her. Heat rose to fill her cheeks, embarrassed on her behalf. “And what does this prove?” She asked, eyes flicking up to Cormac. He was watching Pansy's backside sway as she crawled towards Hermione. 

It was George was answered her. “Could you imagine the old Parkinson doing this?”

Hermione shook her head, cringing when Pansy came to a stop in front of her. She almost bit clean through her tongue when the once proud Slythrin bent down and pressed her lips to Hermione's dusty trainers.

“As you see. Any prejudices she once had, have now been removed.” Cormac said, “All by implementing the Ministry approved punishments.” 

Hermione stared down at Pansy's bent head. “So she'll be released?” 

“Not yet.” 

“Why not? If she's no longer a danger and she's been rehabilitated, then why not let her go?” Hermione said trying to contain her mounting outrage. 

“Because we need to be sure. She'll have to undertake several tests before final clearance is given.” Cormac said tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling in apparent boredom. 

“What kind of tests?” She asked in suspicion. Widening her eyes when George reached across to squeeze her thigh. 

Cormac flicked his fingers in a lazy gesture, “Similar to what you just witnessed.” 

“But-”

“Granger. Stop asking your bloody questions!” George hissed, “The punishments work that's all you need to know!”

Hermione glared at him, “It's a valid question!”

“Then ask it Hermione.” Cormac said giving her a wink, “I'll either answer it or I won't.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if he'd report any of this to his father. “How do you know she's rehabilitated? Any Death Eater could be asked to kiss my feet and they'd have to do it wouldn't they?” She gestured to her neck, “The collar forces obedience. So what's the difference?”

George muttered a curse and she turned to him frowning. Noticing his hands were fisted white and pushed into the cushion. Cormac shifted into a standing position and she quickly switched her attention back to him. Fear plugged her throat shut. She'd made a mistake. She just didn't know quite what it was. But when Cormac strolled around his chair and towards Barty she had a horrible feeling that it would cost them dearly. 

Barty was already twitching when Cormac stopped directly in front of him. They were the same height, and able to look each other directly in the eye. Cormac coolly amused, perhaps showing off. Barty indifferent, but hate rapidly swimming to the surface. 

This eye to eye challenge lasted for an endless second. Long enough for George to lean into her and hiss, “Do something!” 

Hermione blinked. What on earth did he expect her to do? But before she'd even finished asking herself, it was already to late. 

“Tell him to kiss my feet Weasley.” Cormac ordered.

George jumped up, “Umm.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “I-”

“Tell him.” Cormac repeated. 

Barty's collar was spitting black sparks, each making a hiss as it fizzed into nothing. Hermione's eyes widened as her gaze fell to Pansy's collar. Smooth and spark free. 

“Barty, get on your knees and-”

Hermione pulled herself up using George's arm, “Oh. I get it!” She said interrupting him, and then tugging on his arm and giving him a pointed look and jutting her head at the Floo, She mouthed the words 'be ready' to him. 

“It's the collar.” She walked quickly towards Cormac and Barty, “Fascinating.” She said pretending to study the metal encircling Barty's neck. “So when a Death Eater is rehabilitated, the collar stops sparking? Is it some kind of emotional response charm?” She turned her face to Cormac, praying that he'd back down. That this mess could be erased.

Her former housemate looked pissed off. “Yes.”

“Brilliant!” Hermione curled her hand around his arm, “Tell me more?” 

“I will. Just as soon as he kisses my feet.” 

Her heart hit the floor. Barty snarled, the collar sparking so much it was like black smoke encasing his neck. Hermione backed away sensing danger and not knowing how to stop it. The tension was so thick she thought she might choke. She gave George a desperate look, but he looked as panicked as she felt. 

Cormac smirked, “Either he kisses my feet or he suffers a punishment.” He prodded his finger into Barty's chest, “I'll even be generous and let you choose.”

Hermione was on the verge of tears. This was all her fault. “I'm not feeling too good. I think maybe we should just go.” She whispered. Every word she spoke was true. 

“I'll take you.” George said, rushing over and putting his arm around her waist. 

Cormac was looking at them, distrust evident in every line of his body, “I can't let you leave until some kind of punishment had been administered.” His eyes flicked to George, 

“You know that Weasley. So ask him what he chooses.”

Hermione felt George sag ever so slightly, “I know. Can I just take Granger home first?”

Cormac looked at Hermione and frowned. “Is it the thought of his punishment that's making you feel queasy?” 

George dug his fingers into Hermione's back in alarm. 

“No!” She grimaced, “Honestly? I'm still not completely right. I fall asleep at the oddest times and my legs give out when I least expect it. The Healer said it will take a while for my muscles to get back to normal.”

“A couple of days ago she fell on her way out of the shower,” George waggled his eyebrows, “A soapy wet Granger is a sight to behold.”   
Hermione scowled and hit George on the arm, pretending outrage. “Shut up.” She glanced at Cormac from beneath her lashes. His eyes were sweeping up and down her, obviously imagining her naked. It was a look that set her teeth on edge, but it had at least diverted his attention from her awful error of judgement.

Cormac crossed the room and took her from George, “Come sit.” He placed her back on the sofa and sat next to her. Too close to be polite, but she couldn't say a damn thing about it if she didn't want the Ministry crawling all over her back. “Make it quick Weasley,” he draped his arm over Hermione's shoulder, “Then you can take Hermione home to rest.”

George muttered something indistinct beneath his breath as he approached Barty. Hermione watched in horror as he drew his wand and began firing Diffindor hexes. Blood sprayed as Barty's skin split in multiple places. She held her breath and dug her fingers into her palms. She couldn't understand why he was just standing there and taking it. He hadn't even reached for his wand. But then she remembered George muttering. Had he cast a freezing charm over Barty? Another hex hit, this time catching him on the cheek. Thick blood spilled out, oozing down his skin, to drip onto his shoulder. It was happening so fast that she was barely able to process it.

Hermione bit her lip, eyes falling away from Barty and George to land on Pansy. She was twitching, each and every time one of the hexes hit. A tiny spasm that Hermione was sure Pansy wasn't even aware of. 

“Okay. That's enough.” Cormac lifted his hand, “Make sure you clean up the blood before you leave Weasley.”

George nodded and waved Barty towards the Floo. For a moment Barty didn't move, eyes still in that distant place that only he could see. Hermione shifted to her feet, closing her eyes in disgust when she felt Cormac run his hand down her back and over the swell of her bum. The moment Hermione started towards the Floo, Barty jerked into motion. They got there at the same time. 

The air stank of metal and rust and Hermione had to breath though her mouth to stop herself from vomiting on the floor. George had finished vanishing the blood from the carpet where Barty had been punished, but the Death Eater was already dripping a fresh batch onto the ground where he now stood.

“I'd like very much to see you again Hermione.” Cormac said.

She plastered a smile on her face and twisted to face him, “I'd like that too.” And she certainly would. Because Hermione had made her decision. She was going to free the Death Eaters. And if she had to bring down the Ministry to do it, then she would. She was the first to step through the Floo and when she emerged the first thing she did was run upstairs to the bathroom. She threw up. Twice. The next thing she did was retrieve some Murtlap essence. 

Barty was no where to be seen when Hermione returned to the living room. But all she need do was follow the line of blood. It led outside. She was just about to step through the door when George emerged from the Floo. 

“Granger?” 

Hermione turned to him, “I'm sorry. I understand now.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust, “Please tell me you don't agree with that.” 

George shuffled his feet, “They killed Fred.” 

“Who? Barty? Pansy?” Hermione marched towards him, “This is wrong, all of it. The Ministry, the punishments. Everything.” She pulled in a shuddering breath, “I can't do that stuff.” 

George shook his head, “Then you won't have to.” 

“I can't let anyone else do it either George.” He winced and she had to stop herself from shouting at him, from blaming him for the Ministries actions. “Don't ask me anything about it and I promise that I won't let any of it come back on you.”

“You don't know what you're getting into, Mione.” George said. 

Hermione opened her mouth to answer when she heard Molly moving about in one of the upstairs rooms. She folded her lips and ducked out of the door before Molly could see her. 

The shed was a rundown lopsided building that looked like a hard breath would blow it over. The door was broken and several of the slats were missing. She hesitated for a moment before knocking. No answer. Not that she expected one. She wasn't even really sure that she should be doing this. Barty would likely kill her for daring to disturb him. But she was going to do it anyway. 

Her hand was shaking as she pushed open the door. “Barty? I brought you some Murtlap.” Silence greeted the statement. 

The sunlight shining from behind her illuminated the small room. It was filled with clutter. Old furniture, broken toys and in the far corner a single mattress with only the floor beneath it. Barty was sat on it, statue still. 

Hermione shuffled, unsure if she should walk in or not. “Shall I leave it here then?” She said pointing to the ground. 

“No. Bring it to me.” His voice had a malicious quality that made her pause. 

Not that she could blame him. He'd just been tortured because he didn't kiss Cormac Mclaggen's feet. She made her slow way towards him. Her palms were sweating and her breath was heaving in and out. Once her toes touched the mattress, she stopped and held out the bottle. But when she saw Barty up close she let it fall back to her side. He was no longer covered in blood and all of the cuts were erased. 

“You healed it?” She asked.

Barty cocked his head, “I want to hurt you.” He slowly unfurled from his sitting position until he was standing barely an inch away from her. The heat from his body surrounded her. “Will you let me?” 

Hermione shook her head, tensing when he let his forehead drop down onto her shoulder. “Don't.”

Barty chuckled, rolling his head until his face pressed against her neck, the cool metal of his collar dug into her skin. “What did you learn tonight Little Bird?” His breath brushed her skin and she shivered in fear. 

“That I have to be careful.” She said bringing her hands up to his chest and pushing.

He didn't move, not even an inch, but he did bring up his hands to encircle her waist. Hermione stiffened, “Let go of me.” 

Barty let his hands fall, but kept his body where it was, tight against her. His breath continued to heat the skin of her neck. “Did you enjoy having that girl kneel before you?” 

“No!” She said, trying again to push him. 

“Why?” His whispered.

Hermione stepped away. “It's wrong.” She crossed her arms, “and I'm going to stop it.”

He eyed her intently. Features almost hawk like in their intensity. “I believe you will.”


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Luna Lovegood was still living in the cylindrical house on top of a slight hill, surrounded by open countryside and not much else. Only now she lived there with Neville instead of her father, who was apparently off on some kind of soul searching expedition. Hermione had arrived a little while ago, and was sitting in the living room waiting for Luna to show her one of the dresses she'd picked out for the wedding. 

Barty was back at the Burrow. She'd managed to convince Molly that he wasn't needed. Which was true, Luna didn't have a Death Eater slave so Hermione didn't need Barty to guard her against one. But she also didn't want him and Neville in the same room as each other. She couldn't imagine what it would be like for him coming face to face with the man who'd tortured his parents. In the end it didn't matter because Neville was nowhere to be seen when she arrived. Out searching for plants. 

She nibbled on her lip and waited, a glass of the sourest lemonade she'd ever tasted clasped in her hand. She couldn't put it down because every surface she looked at was filled with flowers and plants. Even the floor. It was actually a little overwhelming. The smell alone threatened to bring on a sneezing fit that had the potential to make her head explode. 

“Well?” 

Hermione jumped in fright, the lemonade splashing onto the back of her hand. She spun around to see Luna standing in the doorway wearing a silvery dress. It covered most of her skin, skimming her curves as it fell to the floor in soft folds. The shimmering material bounced the light around, haloing her in sparkling silver. She looked absolutely stunning. 

“You look beautiful.” Hermione said, standing to get a closer look. 

“Do you really think so?” Luna gave a delicate twirl. The dress floated up around her knees and spun like moonlight around her. 

Hermione grinned, “This is the one. It's perfect for you.” 

Luna stopped twirling and cocked her head, “the kepplers thought so too.” She reached down to brush her fingers against the soft material. “I'll wear it.” Her pale blue eyes rose to Hermione's. “Do you think Neville will like it?”

“Yes. He won't be able to take his eyes off you.” Hermione said, a little wistfully.   
Luna smiled and picked a white flower from a jar to place in her hair. “Have you decided anything about the Death Eaters yet?”

“Yes. Pansy...Luna it was awful, she was like a puppet, and that hideous toad Mclaggen made her kiss my feet!” Hermione fiddled with the edge of her jumper, almost too anger to notice she'd pulled a thread loose. “It has to stop. All of it.”

The blonde witch tipped her head in thought. “Do you have a plan?” 

Hermione huffed in frustration, “No.” She ran a hand through her hair. “It's not going to be as simple as freeing them. The first thing they'll do is seek revenge. We can't just let them go.” 

“Perhaps we could petition for a new prison to be built.” Luna said. 

“It's a thought.” She narrowed her eyes, “Why wasn't one built in the first place?”

Luna wandered over to a vase of purple roses, plucking a small bud and placing it next to the white flower that already adorned her hair, “The Ministry thought there were more important things to deal with. And when a way was found to keep the Death Eaters in check, wasting time and magic on another prison was deemed unnecessary.” 

“Yes, they came up with a way to contain the Death Eaters very quickly didn't they?”Hermione said, suspicion stirring in the pit of her stomach. The whole thing was to hideously perfect to be pure chance. Someone had planned this. And Hermione was determined to find out who.  
Luna hummed in agreement. 

“I need to find out more about what's happening at the M.O.M.” Hermione said, still carrying the glass of lemonade, but looking for somewhere to put it down before Luna could make her drink it. 

“You could ask Harry.” 

Hermione immediately shook her head. “I'm not getting him or any of the Weasley's involved.” 

Luna flashed an innocent smile, “You saw Cormac last night? Is he still fond of you?” 

“No. Luna. No.” Hermione shuddered in revulsion, “I refuse to use Mclaggen to get to the Ministry.”

“Okay.” She shrugged in unconcern, “It's just that his father is rather high up, and the Mclaggen's have regular parties.” Her eyes wandered up to the ceiling, “All of the Ministry staff who you'd be interested in talking to, would be in attendance.” 

Hermione groaned. “Don't tell me that! Why did you tell me that?!”

“You'll need to speak to a Death Eater as well.” Luna said, lifting the dress above her knees and ignoring Hermione's protests. 

“I've spoken to a Death Eater. Two actually. Barty and Draco. And I'm not sure what help they'll be able to give.” Hermione said, “Besides I don't trust them, Barty's not exactly stable, and if I ask Draco anything, then what's to stop Harry or Ron ordering him to tell them what we've talked about.” She shook her head, “It's too dangerous.”

Luna blinked in apparent thought, “you could get them to make an unbreakable vow.” 

Hermione spluttered in disbelief, “That's insane! Are you trying to get me killed?”

“I just think Barty would be a good option and the Hobkins agree with me.”

Hermione shook her head, determined not to get sidetracked by any nonsense. Even if she did want to know what a Hobkin was. “But why Luna?”

The blonde came forward and linked arms, “he's clever, and sneaky and I'll bet he's heard all kinds of things. And nobody takes him seriously. Everyone thinks he's too far gone,” 

Luna tapped the side of her head, “up here.”

“You don't agree.” Hermione stated, wondering if Luna was really the best person to be discussing another person's sanity with. 

“No I don't. And he's going to know you're up to something anyway, so you might as well try and get him onside.”   
Hermione frowned. “To be honest, I'm not even sure someone like Barty will even be safe to let go. I certainly don't trust him to watch over me or any of you.”

“Perhaps a test then?” Luna said.

“Maybe.” Hermione said doubtfully, “I just don't know. I'm more worried about the prospect of Cormac than anything else at the moment.” She scowled. “Do you really think I'll have to flirt with him?”

Luna just smiled serenely. “That's up to you.”

“I wish it wasn't.” She muttered patting Luna's arm, “You should change out of your dress, you'll get it dirty.” Hermione smiled as the blonde gave another twirl, before leading her towards the Floo.

“May I come see you tomorrow?” Luna asked. 

“Yes, of course.” Hermione took a handful of green powder and threw it into the fire. “The Burrow.” She stated, giving Luna a quick wave before disappearing into the Floo. 

When she emerged it was to see Molly wringing her hands and walking back and forth in quick angry strides. She stepped into the room, absently noting Barty standing next to the Floo as usual. Hermione immediately tensed, dread filling her stomach. “What is it?”

“George has been hurt.” 

“Is he okay?” Hermione asked coming to stand next to Molly and placing an arm around her shoulder in the hopes of calming her down. 

“The stupid boy drank to much Fire whiskey and then tested some of his products on himself!” Molly raised a hand to her eyes, “He's covered in boils, Hermione, the Healer's don't know what he took, so they can't treat him. My poor boy will be in pain for days!”

Hermione blinked, “But he'll be okay? Once the potion goes through his system.” 

“Yes.” Molly said sourly, “He'll be fine, just as soon as I can get to St. Mungo's and take care of him.” She shuffled passed Hermione and into the kitchen. From the sound of it she was collecting half of her store of leftovers. No doubt she planned to sit by his bed for the duration of his stay. 

If she was honest, Hermione found it hard to dredge up any sympathy for George, she still remembered him and Fred testing their products on first years at Hogwarts. She'd been furiously angry with them at the time. Almost to the point of severing the odd friendship they'd had. Now all she could feel was a sad kind of resignation. What on earth was he thinking mixing alcohol with potentially volatile potions? 

She was disturbed from further musing by Molly, who'd stuffed a basket to the brim with foodstuffs and was making her way to the Floo. Guilt filled Hermione as she realized Molly had waited for her to return before leaving. 

“Shall I come with you?” She asked.

Molly smiled and shook her head, “No dear, Ginny, Ron and Arthur are already there, I'm afraid George is always a little delicate after one of his...episodes.”

Hermione noted the hesitation, “Of course. Send him my love?” She said, watching as Molly nodded and made her way over to the Floo. She'd read between the lines, this was a Weasley only affair. And something that she suspected had happened on more than one occasion. 

A second later she was left alone. The silence of the Burrow sinking into her and easing the tension away. Her shoulders sagged in relief and a breath seeped out of her. And then she remembered Barty. Molly hadn't taken him. Hermione spun around to see him standing a few feet away from her. She hadn't even heard him move. 

“Just the two of us.” Barty said in a chill tone. 

Hermione backed away from him, “Yes, well.” Her hands began to twitch with nerves, and she said the first thing that came to mind. “Would you like something to eat?” She asked, wincing at the absurdity of it. And mildly horrified that she sounded just like Molly. As if offering food would make everything okay in the world. 

She watched as surprise widened Barty's eyes ever so slightly. Just enough to unbalance his opinion of her. Not giving him time to recover, she rushed into the kitchen and plucked the casserole dish from the counter where Molly had left it for her. A heating charm had it warmed in seconds. She scooped the thick beef stew onto two plates and set them on the table. Forks followed and then thick crusty bread. She finished with two glasses of icy water. The entire time she was aware of Barty's heavy gaze pressing down on her. Grinding away her composure. 

She sat and began to eat. A few tense moments passed before Barty joined her, sitting down in the chair opposite. When he picked up the fork and dipped it into his stew, the tension drained from her. The whole thing was so stupid that she almost laughed. Hermione Granger, one third of the golden trio, dining with a Death Eater, who'd quite happily admit to killing and torturing people without a hint of regret. What on earth was she thinking? She blamed it entirely on the manners her parents had jammed into her as a child. Even now, she could feel the urge to ask polite meaningless questions rise up her throat. The only defence she had was to keep her eyes firmly attached to her plate. But that didn't stop her from feeling his attention on her. 

And it was that attention that finally snapped her determination to remain quiet. “It's rude to stare.” She muttered. 

“I'm not staring. I'm looking.” His voice was edged with contempt.

Hermione let her eyes lift to meet his, “Well, whatever it is you're doing, it's making me uncomfortable.”

Barty sneered, “Is it?” Two words spat out with hatred. 

“You bloody well know it is!” She snapped. Thumping her fork onto the table. A heavy silence fell. Hermione glaring at her clenched fists, and Barty glaring at her. She couldn't believe that Luna had actually thought he'd be of any use. He'd likely slit her throat the moment her back was turned than consider helping her. 

No. If she needed to speak to a Death Eater then it would have to be Draco. Hermione narrowed her eyes in contemplation. It would be a risk of course. But maybe she could ask a few questions that would be vague enough that neither of them would get into trouble. Her eyes flicked to the clock. A little after five. Harry wouldn't have finished work yet, and with both Ginny and Ron at St. Mungo's, she'd only have Lavender to deal with. She nibbled on her lip as she thought. A better chance to speak to him freely might never come along. 

“I'm going to Grimmauld Place.” She said, standing and making her way to the Floo before she changed her mind. Barty began to follow her. “You can wait here for me.”   
Cool fingers circled her wrist, “Issuing orders again, are we?” His grip tightened, squeezing the delicate bones in her wrist, “Didn't I warn you about that?” 

Hermione swallowed back her panic as she watched his collar flare white, “It wasn't an order.”

“No?” He pulled her towards him, a slow predatory move. “Then what was it?” 

“A suggestion.” She said, withdrawing her wand and placing the tip against his chest, “let go.”

A feral smile crossed his lips, “but of course.” he dropped her wrist but continued to crowd her. Letting his heat wash over and into her. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes, determined not to let him intimidate her. “I'm going to Grimmauld Place,” She let her wand fall to the side, “You can do whatever you please.” Without waiting for him to answer, Hermione spun around and grabbed a handful of the gritty green powder. She flung it in with more force than necessary before stepping through. 

Darkness greeted her. A deep impenetrable blackness that pressed down on her. It was so similar to her time spent in the coma that she stood frozen. Terror seizing her in a cold hard grip. Her heart nearly exploded out of her chest, when Barty emerged from behind her and cast a Lumos. The unexpected light causing her to squint and miss a step. She would have fallen if not for Barty looping his arm around her waist. Her stomach clenched in fear as he pulled her flush against him.

“Thank you.” she muttered digging her elbow into his stomach in the hopes of making him let go and praying he didn't notice her moment of weakness.   
He didn't release her, instead lowering his head until his chin rested on her shoulder so he could whisper into her ear. “I like it when you squirm, it makes me think of doing all kinds of inappropriate things to you.” His tongue darted out to touch her cheek. A quick flick, there and gone in a second.

Hermione stiffened, outrage snapping her back straight. “Get your hands off me!” She hissed. 

Barty fought against the order at first. She could feel him twitching and the chest pressed tightly into her back was shuddering with uneven breaths. She was seconds away from reaching for her wand when he let go. Slowly unfurling from her and taking a single step back. 

An unsteady breath left her as she spun to face him. Keeping her eyes fixed on the untidy tufts of hair, the bright wand light brought out deep caramel coloured strands that she'd never noticed before. “Don't do that again.” She waved her hand between them, “I don't want you to touch me. Not ever.”

A nasty sneer curved Barty's thin lips and his mouth opened. No doubt to say something particularly cruel, when they were interrupted by a sound from the room next door. Hermione's head snapped to the side. Laughter and giggles. Female and more than one. It was a sound reminiscent of her time at Hogwarts, when all the girls would get together, excluding Hermione, and talk about boys and other silliness that she'd never been interested in. Drinking themselves stupid and making utter folls of themselves. It ground on her nerves then, and it did now. 

It was when she heard the words 'make him' that she froze. She knew that voice. Parvati Patil. And where Parvati was, Padma was sure to follow. A sick feeling began to rise to the pit of her stomach. Her eyes flicked towards Barty. He was watching her, a calculating look turning his features into a sharp mask. This was the moment. The moment that she could test whether or not he could be trusted. Endless thoughts were churning around her head. Did she really want to do this? Could Barty be trusted, and was she willing to risk it in order to help Draco Malfoy from whatever nonsense Lavender was making him do?

Another giggle forced her to make the decision quicker than she wanted. Ignoring the almost painful thud of her heart, Hermione allowed her eyes to meet Barty's. They darkened to almost black, and they studied her so intently she felt like a lab specimen about to be dissected.

She swallowed her nerves, “I'm going to stop all this.” She flicked her finger to where the laughter was coming from, “but I'm going to need help. From Draco, and from you.” she took a small hesitant step towards him, “When we go into that room, I want you to do nothing but stand perfectly still. Can you do that?”

“I can.” His lip tipped up in a secret smile, “but that doesn't mean to say that I will.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, “Well then, I'll order you back to the Burrow and do this without you.” 

Barty shook his head in mock disappointment. “If you do that Hermione, then you won't be able to test whether you can trust me or not.”

Her stomach dipped in horror. He was a Legilimens. She immediately dropped her eyes and stepped away. Panic clouding her thoughts. Trying frantically to recall what he might have seen hiding away inside her brain. She blinked. Not just her brain. But the brain of everyone he'd come across. He could be sitting on exactly the information she needed. Or if not, one glance and he could get it. 

Did she want to risk it though? Could she?

Lavender's high pitched voice squealed out, “Now the rest!”

Hermione's hand fisted at her sides. Yes, she could.

“You're right.” She lifted her eyes to once again meet his. Pausing on each and every bruise. It took all of the courage she possessed. “Trust works both ways.”

“Indeed it does.” He spoke gently, almost a caress upon the air. 

A long few minutes passed, the only sound the increasingly raucous giggles that Lavender and the Patil's were spewing out. Hermione lifted her chin, tossing her hair back in stubbornness, “Will you do it?” 

Barty smiled indulgently. “On one condition.” He stepped in closely enough that his shirt brushed her arm and his breath touched her head.

Hermione resisted the urge to back away. Tensing her legs to stop them from trembling. “Go on.”

“If you want me to hold my tongue, then you'll let me hold yours.” 

“I...” Her heart skipped a beat, “I have no idea what you mean.” 

Barty brushed his fingertips along her cheeks, making her flinch, “The blush colouring these says you do.” 

And she did. She knew exactly what he wanted. And she also knew he was choosing it because he thought she'd say no. Why on earth would she say yes, when Padma, minus her tongue, was in the next room, letting out a mangled huff of laughter. It was a lovely reminder of what he was capable of. Her eyes closed, a long steadying blink, that did nothing to ease her nerves.

When she opened her mouth, she honestly wasn't sure what answer she was going to give. 

“Yes. I'll do it.” She snapped her hand up to cover her lips. A belated move to try and prevent the words from spilling out. Because no way had she just agreed to willingly put her tongue in Barty's mouth. 

Barty was so surprised that he backed up a step. “What?” 

Hermione took courage in his apparent confusion, seeking to gain the upper hand, “I'll need an unbreakable vow that anything we speak of goes no further.” She took a few hurried steps towards the door, “and I want your help to find a solution that we can all live with. Do you agree?”

Barty was looking at her in narrow eyed speculation, “and the kiss?”

“A test of trust, as you say.” She paused at the door, “Although I don't suppose you'd choose something else?” 

“No.” 

She paled slightly, but nodded her head. “Then your test comes first.” It was surprisingly easy to speak about deals, promises and deadly kisses, when she didn't give herself time to think. Or worry about the thousand things that could go wrong. “When we get into that room, you won't say or do anything that I don't ask you.” She walked out of the room, stopping at the base of the stairs. “Accio sleeping potion!” She whispered, pretending she didn't notice the way Barty stood too close to her. 

Hermione counted to five. Praying that Harry had a fully stocked potions cabinet. Her breath released when she heard the tell tale whoosh of air that told her the potion was on its way. Her hand snapped out and plucked the sleeping potion from the air.

“And when I give you a sign, I want you to come up with a distraction.” She began to march towards the door, “nothing that will end in me having to punish you.”

Barty scoffed, “You have an aversion to getting your pristine hands dirty?” 

“Yes. As a matter of fact I do.” Hermione reached the door, scowling when hysterical giggles filtered through the flimsy wood. “But if I really have to get them dirty,” she put her hand on the handle, “if there's no other way, then I will.”


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The door swung open, bright light spilling out and onto their feet. Lavender, Padma and Parvati were sitting on a sofa, feet propped up on a coffee table. A bottle of fire whiskey was set in the middle and three half full glasses were placed on the battered wooden surface. Opposite them, naked as the day he was born was Draco Malfoy. Hermione clutched the edge of the door frame in shock. Refusing to let her eyes drop below his neck. His cheeks were flushed a brilliant red. Not from embarrassment, but from anger and humiliation. Beyond him, next to the fire stood Greg Goyle, not quite as naked, but one garment away from sharing his cock with the world. 

“Am I disturbing something?” Hermione asked coolly, anger coiling in the pit of her stomach. 

The three witches spun to face her. Each wearing a comical look of surprise. 

“Well?” She asked, when they made no attempt to speak. The daft bints didn't even have the grace to look ashamed of themselves. And they should be. Forcing a person, even somebody as hideous as Malfoy and Goyle, into such a vulnerable position was unforgivable.

It took every bit of her courage, and a small shove from Barty, to step into the room and make her way as nonchalantly as she could to a chair. There was nothing she could do to prevent the blush from rising up her neck and into her face. After all Draco Malfoy was the first boy, well man, that she'd seen naked. Even if she hadn't actually looked. It still counted. 

The room had gone deadly quiet. And when she dared look, it was to see the Patil's glaring daggers at Barty. She could actually feel the hatred they were spewing coating the air. Lavender was sending the same look, but gifting it to Hermione instead of the Death Eater standing in the doorway. She eased back in the too soft chair, only slightly alarmed when she sunk about five inches, and tried to look at ease. 

“Barty?” She flicked her fingers in an careless gesture, “would you mind terribly standing in the corner?” She frowned in mock concern, “I think you're making the Patil's nervous.”

An endless moment passed. Hermione pretending to study her nails. When what she was really doing was wondering if she'd be able to fight her way out of the chair before someone in the room attacked. But then all thoughts fell away as Barty slowly made his way to the corner she'd indicated. Behind the three witches. His gaze settled on her, a silent warning that he would only allow her to push him so far. Test or no test. 

“What are you doing here?” Lavender huffed in annoyance. 

Hermione's temper rose up a notch, “Whatever I please.” She said, eyeing the nervous Patil twins. Clearly they didn't like having Barty where they couldn't see him.

“How dare you speak to me like that in my own home!” Lavender squealed, jumping to her feet and pointing a shaking finger at Hermione. 

“Firstly. This is Harry's home.” She narrowed her eyes, “Secondly. If you don't put that finger down I'm going to snap it off.” She swayed forward in the seat, palming the sleeping potion, “Or better yet I'll let Barty do it.” She gave the Death Eater a pointed look. 

The sound of indrawn breaths was loud in the tension filled room. But that was okay. If the distraction was going to work then she needed their attention on him and not her. Barty took a step forward, managing to make the floorboard creak in the most ominous way. The three witches spun in their seats, fumbling for wands. As soon as their backs were turned, Hermione flipped out the cork and bent forward, tipping the small vial and allowing three drops to fall into the first glass. She was on the second when she saw Draco and Goyle move from the corner of her eye. She waved her hand frantically to get their attention, then realized that both of them were probably under some kind of compulsion to protect the three witches and wouldn't be able to stop even if they wanted to. 

She quickly added the potion to the third glass, wincing when she heard someone fire a curse. A thump sounded and she looked up to see Barty slumped against the wall. Padma had her wand pointed at him, a malicious look twisted her pretty face beyond recognition. Hermione swore under her breath. She'd only wanted to cause a slight distraction, not declare all out war. 

“Have you missed me Padma?” Barty asked, his tone mild, but the look in his eyes spitting hatred. It was when he slowly traced his bottom lip with his tongue that the tension increased. 

Hermione's heart beat unsteadily in her chest. A quick thud, bump that pounded all the way up to her ears. She jumped up from the chair before Barty could say or do anything else that would make the already volatile atmosphere explode. A panicked breath squeezed passed the clot of dread filling her throat as Parvati opened her mouth. 

She took one stumbling step forward, and did the only thing that she could think of that might let her regain control of the mess she'd created. She pushed Draco on top of the three witches. Lavender squealed, shoving him onto the Patil's, who then thrashed about, tangling their limbs together and kneeing Draco in a very sensitive place. He howled, bending forward, moon pale arse in the air. It was then that Goyle joined the chaos. Grabbing the back of Draco's hair and pulling back. Clearly believing that Malfoy was attacking the Patil's. 

It was so absurd that Hermione burst into laughter. Huge guffaws that made the muscles in her stomach ache and catching a breath hard. She used a hand to cover her mouth in the effort to stop the giggles from slipping out. It didn't work. But the completely inappropriate laughing fit did shift everyone's attention to her. Which only made her laugh harder. Tears were leaking out of her eyes and trickling down her cheeks to drop onto her chest.

“She's gone mad.” Parvati whispered. 

Hermione nodded her head as she clutched her stomach, “You..you should have seen your faces!” She managed to gasp out, another round of giggles spewing out at the sour looks they were giving her. Well, apart from Barty who was watching her with a perfectly blank expression.

Finally she managed to get herself under control, shifting back until she was sitting in the squishy chair once again. She was slightly ashamed of herself. Laughing at them like that. Not one bit of it would be the least bit amusing to the tongueless Padma and naked Draco. Or Barty, who was probably sporting some new bruises. And that thought brought her quickly back to how serious this could get if she couldn't get them to drink the potion. 

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, wondering what she'd need to say to get them to play nice and not set the Death Eaters against each other. She opened her eyes and took a peek at Lavender. Her arms were crossed and she was glaring daggers at Hermione. The Patil's looked just as angry, but she could also sense their unease at having Barty behind them. None of them had put away their wands. Draco she was pretending wasn't even there. He was just a pale reverse shadow. Goyle was standing next to the fire, looking bewildered and childlike. 

Hermione took a breath, preparing to grovel. “I'm sorry.” She whispered, “I shouldn't have said those things.” 

“No. You shouldn't.” Lavender's annoying voice reached her ears.

Hermione had to fight the urge to scowl as she replied, trying to make her voice sound as pitiful as possible, “I'm just so confused and angry all the time.” She gave a fake snuffle and switched her gaze to the Patil's, “The battle, the war, for me it happened a a few weeks ago. And when I close my eyes I see blood and death,” Her eyes filled with tears, real tears that she didn't want to shed in front of these petty women. “I see you all and I feel...lost.” she spoke the absolute truth blinking frantically to stop her tears from leaking free. 

“Well, you're awake now, and the war is over.” Parvita said somewhat coolly. 

Hermione nodded, “Shall we drink to that? I never got the chance to celebrate the first time around.”

She held her breath as the three witches gave each other a look. A kind of eye flick, that she remembered so well from Hogwarts. The one that meant they were either about to play a joke on her, or use her for their own entertainment. Hermione was really passed caring, she just wanted them to drink the potion, no matter if they would do so at her expense. Padma shrugged and Parvati nodded her head. But it was Lavender who held out the longest, pouting and glaring at the same time. 

Hermione dug her nails into her palm and swallowed her pride, “Please?” 

A smug look crossed Lavender's face as she finally relented, “You'll have to join the game though.”

Her stomach dropped into her feet. “What game?” 

Lavender clapped her hands in glee, “We ask you a question and you can either answer it or forfeit.”

“And if I forfeit?” Hermione asked already knowing the answer and wondering why the heck they were still playing silly childish games. 

“Then your Death Eater has to take off his clothes!” The Patil's sent Barty a self satisfied smirk over their shoulders. Clearly this was some kind of payback. Her eyes switched to Padma who hadn't uttered a single word since she'd entered the room. Unable or unwilling to do so. 

Hermione fought to arrange her face into a amused mask. She flicked her hand Draco's way, “He doesn't have any clothes to lose.”

Parvati waggled her eyes in a lecherous manner, “Then we make them do other stuff.”

Hermione smiled politely, lifting her gaze to Barty. A snarl graced his lips. An unspoken threat hovering in his eyes. The test would apparently not stretch that far. He needn't have worried. She would never ask him remove a single stitch. Which meant she'd have to answer their damn questions. 

She fought her way out of the chair, “Okay, but before each question we have to take a drink.” She said making her way to the couch and the three witches who looked entirely too pleased with themselves. 

They agreed eagerly, shifting over to make room on the decadent velvet couch. She found herself sitting next to Lavender, snorting the cloyingly sweet perfume that Lavender wore from her nose. Although she didn't look, she knew she was facing Draco and Goyle, who had both returned to their places in front of the table. Instead keeping her gaze fixed on the glasses of fire whiskey and calculating how long it would take to knock the three witches out. Five minutes. If she was lucky. 

“Get Barty then.” Parvita said, her voice sly and edged with cruelty.

Hermione bobbed her head, ignoring the creeping sense of numbness that began to crawl up her spine. For a second she thought she might pass out, but she took a deep steadying breath and the sensation passed. “Barty? Would you come stand next to Draco.” She hastily swallowed the please that was on the tip of her tongue. 

A long breathless moment shuddered by. Hermione sure that he wouldn't do as she'd asked. But then, movement. The soft scuff of his boots on the floorboards. She raised her eyes from the glasses to the edge of the table and then up, up and onto his rigid face. A wrong step and he would snap. It was clearly written in his harsh features and white knuckled fists. 

Lavender swung forward, scooping up her glass, “Here.” She offered the amber coloured contents to Hermione.

“No. That's quite alright, I'll take the bottle.” She bent forward and grasped the heavier than it looked bottle. The glass was cool and slippery in her sweaty palm. “I have more catching up than you to do.” 

“Whatever. It's your turn anyway.” Lavender said, before turning to the Patil's and rolling her eyes.

Hermione remembered that from Hogwarts too. The eye-rolling at whatever she said or did, like she was some kind of pest that nobody wanted to deal with, but had to because she was best friends with Harry Potter. Her eyes narrowed, “First we have to drink to the end of the war.” She said lifting the bottle in salute.

The three witches did likewise, clinking their glasses before taking a deep swallow. Hermione merely tipped the bottle to her tightly clenched mouth and let the fire whiskey wet her lips. 

“Right.” Lavender leant towards the Patil's and began whispering. Sneaking peeks at Hermione before giggling and whispering some more. They were obviously trying to come up with something so embarrassing that she'd refuse to answer and Barty would loose a shirt or his pants. Finally Lavender straightened up, regarding Hermione with a smirk. “Are you a virgin?” 

A sense of resentment filled her chest. Not so much at having to answer the question. She was a virgin and she wasn't ashamed of it. Because honestly when had she had the time to strip herself of that title? During her years at Hogwarts when death had been around every corner? Or maybe when she'd spent three years in a coma? No. She wasn't ashamed of that title. She was a virgin. But she shouldn't have been. Ron should have taken that from her years ago. They were supposed to be together, that's what everyone said. She knew it and Lavender knew it. Which was why the silly cow was asking that particular question.

Hermione forced her lips to stretch into a smile. “Drink first.” She muttered, lifting the bottle, but this time taking a mouthful of the liquid heat. She pointed her finger at the three witches, “now you.”

She waited until they'd drained another mouthful from their glasses. Letting her eyes drift over to the Death Eaters. Goyle was much the same as she remembered, a little leaner, and pale in a sallow unhealthy way, but essentially the same, there were no obvious scars marring his flesh that she could see. The collar circling his neck looked uncomfortably tight and as she watched a trickle of blood made it's way down the centre of his chest to soak into the pale grey fabric of his boxers. Her eyes trailed to the side, lingering for a moment on the dark mark, smudged across the inside of his arm, before switching her attention to Draco. 

Again she didn't let her eyes drop below his shoulders. A very nice pair of shoulders, broad and lightly muscled. And as much as she was curious to see the rest of him, she didn't let her eyes lower. It seemed wrong. Disrespectful. Even though she knew that if their positions were reversed, Malfoy would be looking until his eyes dried up and fell out of his head. Those same eyes, a cold grey, met her gaze with a hint of speculation.

“Come on Hermione, we haven't got all day. Answer the question or make Barty take his pants off!” Lavender huffed in annoyance.  
Unable to stall any longer Hermione reluctantly fixed her gaze on Barty. His eyes were almost black and the warning floating to the surface was plain to see. Refuse to answer the question and he'd paint the walls with blood. 

She blinked, heart thudding, blood rushing to her cheeks. The weight of Barty's gaze pressed down on her, forcing her to sink further into the chair in an effort to escape. She couldn't even think about the kiss that she'd agreed to. “Yes. I'm still a virgin.” She said, painfully aware of every listening ear.

The three witches burst into laughter. A shrill caustic sound that drilled into her brain and made her fingers twitch with the urge to reach for her wand. By tomorrow night the news would be all over the wizarding world. Spread far and wide by three vindictive girls. And she had the horrible feeling that Cormac Mclaggen's interest in her would be increased. 

“Who's next?” She muttered hoping to shift the attention away from herself. 

“Parvati.” Lavender said tapping her lip in pretend thought, “I know! What's your favourite colour?” 

Hermione's mouth puckered in disgust. Of course they'd ask each other ridiculous questions. The point of the game was clearly to get the Death Eaters naked. “Drink before you give your answer.” Hermione ordered, lifting her bottle and taking a small sip. The three witches each swallowed a mouthful, leaving only a small amount left in their glasses. It shouldn't be too much longer now. Hopefully only a few more minutes. Padma was already starting to droop. Lavender was kind of listing to the side, and Parvati's eyes kept blinking shut. 

“Your favourite colour?” Hermione prompted. 

Parvati frowned in concentration, “Hmm...blue?” 

Lavender shook her head, hair slapping Hermione's face in the process, “No! You don't want to answer!” 

Hermione smirked, “But she already has.” She slapped her hand onto Lavender's thigh, “You're turn! Who's your secret crush?” She put her hand under the bottom of the glass and pushed it towards Lavender's mouth, “Drink.” 

The three of them barely managed to find their mouths, and when they did, most of the fire whiskey dripped down their chins. Hermione nibbled her lip as they slowly dropped into sleep. One by one. Lavender was the last to succumb, falling into Hermione's lap and letting out an almighty snore.

“What the hell have you done Granger?” Draco said.

Hermione shuffled her way out from beneath Lavender, “I haven't done a thing. Now get some clothes on.” She said, waving her hand at the discarded pile of clothes. “Both of you.” She added when Goyle didn't move. 

Whilst they were dressing she turned her back, seeking to give them a little privacy. The sound of rustling fabric joined Lavender's uneven snores. 

“Did I pass your test Hermione?” Barty's cool voice brushed her cheek. 

Hermione squeaked and jumped away from him, “don't do that!” 

He merely regarded her coolly. Eyebrow raised in question. “Well?”

“Yes, I suppose.” She muttered. Although secretly she thought his test had been easier than hers would be. She inched towards the now dressed Malfoy and Goyle, turning slightly away from Barty, but keeping him in view.

“Goyle, I think you should take the Patil's home, they've clearly had to much to drink.” She said. 

Goyle didn't move. In fact his feet seemed to sink into the floor and turn to stone. She gave Draco an exasperated look, which he returned with a shrug. At a loss she looked at Barty. He sneered, and began to slowly make his way to the back of the couch. 

“If you don't remove them from my sight within the next ten seconds I will rip off their faces.” His tone could have frozen ice, as could the stare he sent Goyle's way. 

Goyle dithered for a moment. Looking from one twin to another. He picked up his foot, then set it back down again. 

“Perhaps one over each arm?” Draco drawled out arrogantly. 

Goyle nodded, his dull eyes showing slight confusion. But he gamely made his way towards the two Patil's and attempted to loop an arm around each of their waists. He managed to lift them, but they kind of sagged in his arms, like two limp dolls. His moves were rushed, worried by the hovering presence of Barty who stalked him as he made his way to the Floo. Draco scooped up some powder and threw it into the fire. 

Goyle muttered out the Patil's address and stepped into the green flames. As soon as they were gone Draco spun to face Hermione.

“What the hell?”

Hermione glanced over at Lavender to make sure she was sleeping. The snores were a clue, but she had to make sure. Even going so far as to prod her in the side and call her name. Lavender didn't move. Satisfied, she turned back to Draco. 

“You want to help me set you free?”


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

 

Draco spluttered at Hermione. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The curly haired witch shook her head, “Do you really think I'd joke about something like this?”

Malfoy cocked his eyebrow, “How the hell should I know? We're not exactly friends.”

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by Lavender who mumbled on the couch. Muttering something unintelligible before twisting over and giving the room her back. Instead of carrying on the conversation, Hermione circled the table, leant over and lightly slapped Lavender on the cheek. 

Draco tutted, “You need to do it harder than that to be sure Granger.”

Hermione gave him a sour look, “I'm not slapping her.” She jutted her chin at the door, “We'll go in the other room.” 

Malfoy's eyes darted towards Barty, who'd once again managed to creep up on Hermione and was now stood just beyond her left shoulder. He was barely able to meet the older Death Eater's impassive gaze. A slight hesitation and then he was out of the door, across the hall and into the kitchen. 

Hermione followed him, surprised by his choice of room but not commenting. Instead looking around. This was the first time she'd seen it since the war. And it hadn't changed a bit. Well it did look a little cleaner. But it was still dank and scruffy. She crossed to the table, running her fingers along its battered surface. The three of them had spent so many nights sitting there, Harry constantly ruffling his hair in frustration, Ron stuffing his face like tomorrow wouldn't happen, and her worrying herself stupid. 

“Well?” Draco said, breaking into her thoughts. 

Hermione started, blinking her way to the present. “I'll need an unbreakable vow before we discuss anything further.” 

“Are you mad? Do you honestly think I'll take that risk?” He sneered at her, but it didn't have quite the same affect when his eyes kept flicking nervously towards Barty. “What if the   
Ministry finds out?” 

“Then you won't be able to tell them anything because the vow will prevent it.” Hermione countered. “It was Luna's idea.” 

Draco scoffed, “Lovegood? You have gone fucking mad if you're listening to what that loon has to say.”

“Shut up Malfoy.” She said, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. “Will you take the vow or not?” 

“He'll take it.” Barty's cool voice stroked the air. A threat hovering just beneath the surface. 

Draco swallowed, backing away from the approaching Death Eater. Eyes darting to Hermione, “Granger?” 

“It's for all of our protection, Malfoy.” She said softly. 

“Fuck!” Draco quickly sidestepped Barty and made his way to Hermione, “Do it then!” He thrust his arm towards her, “We'll have to use your wand, the Ministry monitors ours.” 

The silence in the room was thick and heavy with tension. The fingers that had reached for her wand clenched around the slim length. She didn't want either of them touching it. 

Never mind using it to cast. That was an intimacy neither of them deserved. But she needed the vow if she was going to bring down the Ministry and free the Death Eaters. Reluctance made her movements stiff as she withdrew her wand and held it out to Barty. 

The entire time she kept her gaze fixed on the tip, dreading the moment when he removed it from her hands. Her breath stilled as his scabbed and bruised fingers came into view, circling her wand. He tugged, sharply enough that it slipped from her grip like it was coated with oil. 

“Be careful.” she muttered.

Barty bore his teeth in the parody of a smile, “I always am.” The lie fell easily from his lips as he stepped towards the table. He used Hermione's wand to point at Draco's arm, 

“Shall we?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes as she slowly reached forward to take Draco's wrist. It was surprisingly warm and smooth beneath her hand. She raised her eyes to his cool grey and nodded. 

“You first.” She said, trying to focus on him and the vow he was forcing through clenched teeth. But the entire time all she was aware of was Barty, holding her wand and wondering if he would snap it or use it to hex them. 

Fingers squeezing her wrist brought her attention back to Malfoy, “You're turn.”

Her eyes widened in alarm. She hadn't heard a word he'd said. She blinked, buying herself some time, before finding her gaze being pulled back to her wand. She wanted it back. 

A hasty swallow to moisten her mouth. “I, Hermione Jean Granger, promise on my life and magic, never to share whatever I and Draco Lucius Malfoy speak of, unless he gives me permission to do so.” Her eyes bored into his as she spoke. Willing him to see how sincerely she wished to help. 

Barty brought Hermione's wand into view, letting it hover above their clasped hands. He muttered something in Latin and a thin rope of dull red light streamed from her wand and circled her and Draco's wrists, forming the bond. As soon as it sank into their skin she snatched her hand away and took her wand from Barty. The tension eased out of her and she sighed in relief. Happy to have it back in her possession.

“Aren't you forgetting something Ganger?” Draco said.

Hermione gave him a puzzled look, “I don't know what you mean.”

Malfoy tipped his head toward Barty, “I'm not discussing anything until I've seen him take the unbreakable.”

Her stomach dropped. She'd been hoping to hold Barty's vow taking off for as long as possible. Maybe not for another ten or twelve years at least. In truth, she wasn't even sure she wanted to include him in any of this at all. Even if his Legilimens would come in handy. But seeing Draco's jaw set in stubborn lines she knew that would be impossible. Her lips folded in annoyance as she handed Draco her wand and prepared to give Barty her hand. 

He'd come to stand beside her. Hovering over her seated position, eyes glittering in a way that made her shift uneasily. With great reluctance she lifted her hand and let it hover near his waist. 

A second passed. Then two. On three, she felt cool fingers touch her wrist, nudging beneath the sleeve of her jumper to press against her skin. His fingers were long enough that they completely circled her slim wrist, overlapping ever so slightly. Palm pressing against the rapid thud of her pulse. 

Hermione gulped, quickly repeating the words she'd used with Draco. The only difference was that Barty's fingers clenched tight when she'd said his name, crushing the delicate bones of her wrist. She winced, eyes darting up to see his collar flare white. 

Draco cleared his throat, breaking the tension, “You now Crouch.” he muttered.

A feral snarl crossed Barty's face and he took a menacing step towards Malfoy. Pulling Hermione's arm along with him. Clearly he had a problem with the blonde issuing orders. 

Draco backed away, lifting his hands up to show he meant no harm. 

Hermione tugged back on her arm, “We don't have time for this. Harry could be back at any moment.”

Barty stilled, hand once again clenching painfully around her wrist, surely leaving bruises behind. Finally he relented, spitting out his vow, and staring at Draco the entire time. No doubt giving him that creepy dead eyed stare that made your skin want to crawl free of your body. Not that Malfoy would notice, because his gaze had never once strayed above Barty's chest. 

As soon as Barty fell silent, Draco sealed the vow and offered the wand back to Hermione, who was occupied with trying to retrieve her arm from Barty. She'd already let go of his, loosening her fingers and using her thumb to tap against his wrist to get his attention. 

“Let go.” She ordered. 

With no choice but to comply with her order, Barty dropped her arm. A rough gesture that spoke of how close to losing his temper he was. Fear tumbled down her spine, quickly followed by panic at what she still had to do to pass his test. Her eyes widened as the full implication of what she'd agreed to pressed down on her. She couldn't put her tongue inside his mouth. He'd bite it off. She knew he would. Even now she could feel his volatile emotions engulfing her. What on earth had she been thinking? 

“You okay Granger?” Draco said. “You've gone really pale. You're not going to pass out or anything are you?” 

Hermione blinked. She did feel a little sick. Okay, a lot sick. “Maybe a glass of water?” 

Draco rolled his eyes but turned away to get her a drink. It was then that she felt Barty pass by her, taking a seat on her left, legs stretching out to touch her ankles. A deliberate move to further unsettle her. If she was brave enough to glance up and meet his eyes, she knew he'd be wearing that knowing look. The one that had a slightly condescending, smug tinge to it. 

“Here.” Draco placed a glass of water in front of her. A portion of it spilling over the top and onto the table. 

Hermione picked it up and took a swift mouthful, almost choking on the too cold liquid in her haste to chug it down. It sat in her belly like a heavy weight. “Thanks.”

“So tell me Granger, how exactly are you going to set us free?” Malfoy asked, folding his arms and resting his back against the counter top opposite her.

“There's a few things that need to be sorted out first.” She said, slowly drawing her feet away from Barty's.   
Draco snorted. “Like what?” 

Hermione waved her hand in the air, “Well. I can't just let you go. The first thing you'd do is seek revenge! And I'm not about to start a new war.”

“Are you sure about that? What the hell do you think freeing us will do?” Draco spluttered, narrowing his eyes, “What exactly are you planning on doing with us Granger?” 

Hermione shifted, “Everyone should be given a trail,” at Draco's thunderous scowl she quickly rushed on, “A fair trail, and if they're found guilty then...umm...prison?” The words plopped into the air like a stone in water. Leaving behind disbelief and tension. 

She nibbled on her lip as she felt the two stare at her. But honestly it wasn't like they were innocent. They were Death Eaters for goodness sake!

“Fuck off. Granger.” Malfoy bit out. “We've been made to repent for our sins ten times over. If you think that any of us will help you exchange one prison for another, then you're mad.”

“But if you're let go, then you'll just carry on as before,” She gripped her wand a little tighter, wondering if she should continue and risk further angering them, but if this was going to work then they'd need to be honest with each other, “and some of you won't ever be safe to be given you're freedom.” She added, hoping Barty was too distracted to take in what she was saying. That he was lost in thought, or listening to whatever voices he had circling his head. 

For a moment she thought she'd gotten away with it. That he wouldn't remark and she could continue to ask them for help. Convince them that she was right.   
But then; 

“Would you be talking about me Hermione?” He murmured intimately, swaying sideways to place one arm on the back of her chair and the other on the table in front of her.   
Hermione felt something jump inside her. An internal warning of the danger she was in. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the table. “Are you telling me that you wouldn't seek revenge?”

Barty tipped his head, apparently thinking about her question very carefully. She took the opportunity to peek at Draco. He looked worried and was kind of shaking his head and twitching his fingers in agitation, subtly signing for her to move away. Hermione shuffled to the side, ready to jump up if things started to go badly. 

Finally Barty blinked, attention falling once again on the tense witch. “Do we not deserve it?” The hand on the back of her chair fell onto her shoulder, preventing her escape. “And your friends. Will they be joining us in this prison?” 

Hermione frowned, not knowing what answer to give. Of course he was right. Just as the Death Eaters had tortured, so had her friends. All encouraged and sanctioned by the Ministry. She was just praying that murder and rape weren't among the things listed on their tally of crimes. Although she didn't hold out much hope. She'd seen the way Cormac had been looking a Pansy's backside. It had been lecherous to say the least.

“Do you have a better option?” She asked tiredly. 

Barty shrugged lazily. “I have an option, but I'm doubtful you'll think it's better.”

“Tell us anyway.” She said. 

“We split the wizarding world in two.” His fingers tickled her shoulder as he spoke. An idle gesture that didn't fool Hermione for a moment. 

She snorted, “That's absurd. It would never work,” A look at Draco's considering face made her pause, “Draco?” 

The blonde wizard had his head cocked to the side, grey eyes distant as he thought, “If you freed us, we could negotiate a truce.”

Hermione's forehead was puckered in thought. “What terms would you want?”

“Allow us are own slice of the wizarding world and we'll leave each other alone.” Draco said, face becoming more animated with each passing second. 

“They'd never agree.” Hermione said, “It won't work.” 

Barty slid his hand beneath her hair to touch her neck, “A magical vow taken by all would keep everyone in line.”

“Yes!” Draco said. “You bring the Ministry down Granger, free us and that will throw the lot of them into chaos, the threat of another war will have them agreeing to anything.” 

“Daigon Alley would need to be neutral.” Barty added, still running his fingertips along the skin of her neck. 

“And Hogwarts.” Malfoy said pacing up and down, “It's fucking crazy, but I think it just might work.” 

Hermione pushed herself off the chair and away from Barty. “Are you listening to yourselves? It. Won't. Work.”

“Why not?” Draco asked, coming to stand near her, “Give one good reason. Or better yet, come up with an idea that will.” 

Her mouth set in a mulish line, as she frantically thought of some other way. A way in which they could all live together. But all he could focus on was how much hatred now existed between the opposing sets of wizards and witches. They wouldn't stop fighting until they'd wiped each other out. The safest thing would be to leave things as they were. But she knew the Ministry was up to something and she knew it had something to do with the Death Eaters. 

Hermione also had the horrible suspicion that the Death Eaters would be forced into servitude for the rest of their lives. Essentially wiping out some very powerful and ancient magical families in the process. All that knowledge and tradition lost or hoarded by the few. It would be a return to the dark ages. 

Malfoy grinned in delight when she remained silent, “You can't can you?” 

“Tell me again how it would work.” She muttered.

“We divide the magical areas in two, with a few put aside as neutral territory. We stay out of your half, you stay out of ours. Everyone takes a vow to keep the peace.” He rushed out, flicking his gaze to Barty to check if he'd missed anything. 

“It can't remain like that forever.” At Draco's puzzled frown she elaborated, “It would become quite incestuous eventually.” 

He winced, “Suggestion?”

Hermione tapped her lip in thought, “Maybe we're coming at this in the wrong way. This rift won't be fixed in our life time, and I agree that the only way to live in peace would be to live apart.” She wandered towards the window above the sink, “But it can't always be like that. I think the only way we have a chance of fixing this will be through future generations.”

“The children.” Draco said, “So Hogwarts would definitely need to be neutral.” 

“Yes. And it would be best to do away with the house sorting. I always hated that about Hogwarts, it's like we were being told to hate each other from the very first day.” 

“It would take a long time.” Malfoy said. 

Hermione nodded, “But would it work?” 

“I certainly won't be teaching my kids what my father taught me.” Draco muttered. 

“What do you think?” Hermione said turning to Barty. He was one of the most ardent believers in Voldemort and his twisted philosophy. If he thought it would work, then they might actually have come up with a plan.

Barty smirked, “If you can bring down the ministry, and find a way to free us, as well as convincing every British Wizard and Witch that they should live where you tell them to live, then yes. It could work.”

Hermione huffed out a breath. When he put it like that it sounded utterly absurd. As if she could do all that. It was beyond stupid to even consider it. She gave Draco and accusing stare for getting her hopes up. 

Malfoy glared at her, “Don't go soft on me now Granger. We can do this. One step at a time.” 

“See? Already you're working together.” Barty's amused voice reached her ears.

She ignored him, instead keeping her attention on Draco. “So what's the first step?”

“The Ministry.”

Hermione grimaced, “I...well...I visited Cormac Mclaggen yesterday, he-”

“Mclaggen? Did you see Pansy?” Draco rushed towards her, hand reaching out, only to fall to his side when Barty let out a growl. “Did you see her?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, watching Draco's face ease ever so slightly. 

His hand shook as he lifted it to brush the pale hair from his eyes, “Was she okay?”

She was aware of Barty watching her, waiting to see if she'd lie or not, “I wasn't there for long, only a few minutes really.” She hedged. 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, sensing the evasion. “I didn't ask you how long you were there, I asked you if you fucking saw her.”

“She didn't look hurt.” She said, then added when he continued to stare at her, “But I don't think she's completely okay either.”

“Fuck.”

Hermione was about to ask him why he cared so much about the welfare of Pansy Parkinson, when the Floo activated and she heard Harry stumble out. Muttering when he saw Lavender passed out of the couch. She took a step towards the door, when Draco stepped in front of her. 

“You going to use Mclaggen to get to the Ministry?” At her nod he continued, “When you go again tell her-”

“Malfoy? Come here!” Harry's yell halted Draco's words. A spasm crossing his features as he fought the order that Harry had issued. 

Hermione pressed a hand to his shoulder, “It's okay. I'll tell her I saw you, and that you were asking after her.”

Draco gave a sharp nod, before spinning on his heel and practically running into the living room. Hermione followed him. And Barty followed her. When she reached the door. It was to see Harry gesticulating wildly, and scowling at Malfoy. 

“Harry?” He spun towards her, wand half raised, lips opening to send a hex her way. “Hey, it's just me.” She said stepping into the room.

Harry lowered his wand, green eyes sharp with suspicion. “What are you doing here? Why is Lavender drunk and, what exactly were you doing back there?” 

Hermione fiddled with the seam of her jeans nervously. “I came to see you.” She said, feeling the rush of blood begin to creep up her neck. She was so crap at lying it wasn't even funny. She rushed on before the blush became to obvious, “Lavender is drunk because she's stupid, and I was back there getting a glass of water.”

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly, “Mione-” 

“How's George?” She cut him off before he could ask her anything else. Anything that would invoke the vow and a blushing fit that was sure to make her head explode. 

Guilt filled her when she saw Harry give her a long pleading look before finally dropping his shoulders in defeat, “He'll be fine.”

“Good. That's good.” 

An awkward silence fell between them. Sharp edged and full of a dozen accusations. It was so awful that Hermione wanted to cry and scream out her rage to the world. Because she knew in that moment that they'd grown apart. Hermione Granger was still the same person she was three years ago. And Harry Potter wasn't. 

“Well. I should go.” She said with forced cheer. 

“Yeah.” Harry dithered for a moment, before finally coming towards her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

Hermione blinked back her sudden tears. The old Harry wouldn't have dithered. It was through blurred eyes that she made her way to the floo, Barty a silent shadow at her side. Before she left it was to see Draco bending down to pick up Lavender. Instructed no doubt by Harry to do so.

“You should leave her. I read somewhere that sleeping on a firm surface is the best thing for you when you're drunk.” Hermione said, a spiteful edge to her voice. 

Draco paused, as Harry struggled not to smile, “She'll be stiff in the morning.” He said, gesturing for Draco to leave Lavender alone. “But if you read it then it must be true.”

Hermione smiled softly, “Goodnight Harry.” 

“You too and for Merlin's sake, be careful.” He said.

Seconds later she was standing in the Burrow. Moonlight spilling through the windows and giving everything a silver glow. It was silent and still smelled faintly of the stew her and Barty had eaten. 

A warm breath caressed her ear. “Alone at last.” Pale fingers came to rest on the curve of her waist, “Are you ready for your test Hermione?”

Dread filled her chest as she spun to face Barty. Heart beating an unsteady rhythm as he slowly manoeuvred her backwards until her spine pressed against the wall. Cool stone at the back of her, burning heat covering her front. Hermione trembled as his hands left her waist to travel upwards, skimming her ribs, brushing over her breasts to grasp a handful of hair in each hand. She winched as his grip tightened, pushing back until his fists touched the wall. Pinning her in place. 

A whimper of fear escaped her mouth as he gently moved his body until it was a breath away from hers. His face was all sharp lines and cruel angles. 

“I want your tongue.” He whispered against her tightly clasped lips. 

Another panicked sound broke free from her throat, and she closed her eyes in terror. Unable to meet his manic gaze any longer. They stayed like that for a long drawn out moment, Hermione shaking so badly she thought she might pass out.

A heated breath touched her cheek. “I won't ask you again.” 

Hermione tried desperately to dredge up what Gryffindor courage she could. Squeezing her hands until her nails dug into her palms. It was just a kiss, she silently reasoned. Over as quickly as she wished it to be. She could do this. Pulling in a steadying breath, she inched forward. Wincing when the small action tugged on her hair and made her scalp sting with pain. 

Her lips brushed his. Feather soft and hesitant. Then again. Harder more insistent. Confusion muddled her brain when his mouth didn't open to let her in. And with breath held, she allowed her tongue to dart out and touch the seam of his lips seeking entrance. He still didn't open.

But his body did press the length of her, encasing her in heat. Forcing her further back and into the wall. A knee parted hers, sliding high, as his head tilted, slotting his mouth against hers. Lips opened, tongue dipping into her mouth, brushing against her own. Exploring the contours of her mouth. Hermione shuddered, reaching up to hold onto his shoulders, seeking a little control. Fingertips digging into his flesh as she slowly eased her tongue passed his lips and into his mouth. Warm wet heat and the taste on spice. 

Having fulfilled her part of the test she sought to withdraw her tongue. Heart missing a beat when he sucked on her it, using his teeth to very gently hold it in place. She made a sound of distress, pushing at his shoulders and twisting her head. For a moment she feared he wouldn't let go. That he would bite down and the taste of copper would fill her mouth. But then suddenly she could breath. She could move. 

Her eyes snapped open to see Barty standing a few feet away. His face an unreadable mask. 

“Brave little lion aren't you?” He murmured.

Hermione stumbled to the side, breath sawing in and out as she ran for the stairs, almost falling in her haste. She didn't stop until she'd reached her room, slamming the door closed behind her. A hand rose to touch her tingling lips in horror. She'd done it. She'd kissed a Death Eater. And she'd never been so scared in her entire life. Not even during the war. But the thing that was most terrifying. The most unsettling. Was the knowledge that Bartemuis Crouch Junior could bloody well kiss.

 

Well? Did you like it?


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Hermione was hiding from him. Barty. She'd been doing so all morning and most of the afternoon. Although perhaps her bedroom wasn't the most inventive of places to lock herself away from the world. And a flimsy wooden door wouldn't really stop anyone intent on entering if they really wanted in. But she felt safe precisely because it was her bedroom. A place that she had forbidden Barty from entering. And so far he hadn't tested that order. 

She hadn't even left the room when she'd heard Luna arrive. Merely shouting for the blonde to join her upstairs. It was cowardly. Of course it was. But she honestly didn't think   
she could face him. Not after that kiss. The kiss that she refused to think about because it made her heart thud and cheeks flush. Both fear and pleasure rolled into one confusion ball that lodged beneath her ribs.

“Did you not hear me?” Luna's lilting voice broke into her scattered thoughts. 

“What?” Hermione asked swinging forward and away from her pillows. 

Luna smiled serenely, “I asked what you planned to do first.”

A huff fell from her lips, “I've no idea! I was awake all night thinking about it, and now I'm honestly not even sure it will even work.” She pushed a hand through the loose strands of her hair hanging around her face, “the Death Eaters are never going to change, as soon as their free, they'll return to the whole blood purity thing, spewing hatred and killing everyone who had anything to do with their enslavement!” Hermione pulled in a quick breath. “Not to mention how on earth I'm supposed to bring down the Ministry, divide the magical world and restructure how students are taught at Hogwarts!” 

“Ah.” Luna tipped her head to the side, “It will certainly require some thought.” 

Hermione dropped back onto her pillow, “I don't want to think! My head already hurts from thinking.” She wined.

“Then forget the plan for now.” Luna said, twirling her silver blonde hair around her finger, “Perhaps try gathering information instead.”

“Meaning?” Hermione muttered to the ceiling. 

“Well you can discuss things with Draco and Barty now.” Luna ignored her choked cough, “They're bound to know something that will help, and I couldn't help but notice a letter on the table downstairs addressed to you. I'm almost certain it's from Cormac.”

Unease twisted in the pit of her stomach. She didn't want to receive letters from Cormac bloody McLaggen. Sighing she sat up and pushed away from the bed. “I'll go get it and see what he wants.” She shuffled in place, suddenly nervous, “Unless you want to come?”

Luna raised a pale brow in contemplation, “Do you want me to?” 

“No!” Hermione said feeling like an utter fool, “I just thought that...oh never mind!” She marched towards the door, anger at her own cowardice making her movements sharp. Her hand was trembling as she reached for the handle. The door swung open.

And she came face to face with Barty. 

Hermione jumped back, hand reaching for her wand in reflex. “What are you doing?” 

Deep brown eyes regarded her coolly. “I'm standing.” 

“Outside my door?” 

Barty glanced at his booted feet, dark brows raised quizzically, “So it would seem.” 

Hermione's lips pinched in disapproval, eyes never straying higher than the tip of his nose, “Well, I'd prefer you stood somewhere else.”

She nodded her head to punctuate the matter, feeling quite proud of herself. But it was ruined a second later when he took a large step towards her. Heat encasing her front. Breath disturbing the loose strands of hair that had escaped her plait. She immediately backed up, glaring a silent accusation. 

Thin lips held the ghost of a smile, “You asked me to stand somewhere else.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, aware of Luna's interested gaze and Barty's cruel sneer. He was doing it deliberately, of course. Pushing her into a some kind of verbal sparring match. Well, she wasn't going to fall for it. 

“Good for you.” She said, smiling politely and shuffling passed him. She felt the furious weight of his gaze on her back as she walked away. Heart sinking when she heard the thud of his footsteps from behind. He was following her. 

This was why she'd been hiding in her room all day. This feeling of him watching her, hovering close, giving her that knowing smirk. The one that made her stomach dip and flip in two. And she knew it was the kiss that caused that unsettling sensation. Which was why she wouldn't be thinking about how Bartemius Crouch Junior had kissed her in a way that made her feel dizzy and confused and utterly terrified. 

She reached the bottom of the stairs and headed into the kitchen. And there on the table, as Luna had said, was the letter. The envelope was pale cream with her name written in   
black ink on the back. Her hand reached down to take it.

“Do you not want to talk about yesterday Hermione?” Barty's emotionless voice stroked the air. 

Her hand froze, not quite touching the thick parchment. “I...no. I don't. There isn't anything to talk about.”

She felt the air change behind her and knew he was closing in. “Really?” Fingers brushed the side of her neck, feather light and cool. “I would have thought you'd want to know what vow Draco Malfoy made to you.”

Confusion rippled the skin of her forehead and she spun, “What?” He was standing right behind her and she stumbled back into the table, it slid across the floor with a loud screech. 

Barty gave that almost smile, “The vow? Draco Malfoy?” He tipped his head back and regarded her down the length of his nose, “Whatever else did you think I meant?”

Hermione felt the blush rise upwards from the base of her neck with startling speed, “Nothing! I...nothing.” Then what he'd said caught up with her, “What do you mean the vow Malfoy made?” 

“You do recall the words he used?” He asked, dark eyes settling on her lips.

Ice slipped down her spine as she tried to recall what Malfoy had said when making the unbreakable vow. But all she could remember was seeing her wand in Barty's hand and worrying about whether or nor he'd snap it. Horror widened her eyes as it dawned on her that she had no idea exactly what Malfoy had sworn to. 

“Tell me!” She demanded, insides drooping when Barty's shoulders stiffened at her bossy tone. And then drooping further when she realised that the vow the two of them had made would mean she wouldn't be able to order the answer from him. 

“I suggest you try that again.” His mockery was thick enough to touch. 

Hermione hesitated, knowing that pushing him would likely become unpleasant very quickly. But she also needed to know what Malfoy had said. “Would you please tell me what vow Malfoy made.”

A tiny smile hovered around the contours of his lips, “If you give me something I want in return.” He perched on the edge of the table, arms crossed, expression blank. 

She set her mouth into a mulish line, gaze fixed on the dust motes dancing above the table. She didn't want to give him anything. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth as she tried to think of a way to get the information without going through Barty. Asking Draco was always an option. But she had the feeling that he'd make the same demand that Barty had. 

Seeing no other option she fisted her hands by her sides, “What do you want?” 

“I want to be allowed back into your room.”

Hermione blinked. That wasn't what she'd been expecting him to say at all. She'd been expecting something sexual or a demand for another kiss. Not being allowed back into her room. “Why?” She asked, truly baffled.

Barty's eyes drifted up towards the ceiling, “I like watching you.”

“You...what?” She said feeling slightly unbalanced. 

“When you sleep, when you're reading, when you're thinking.” His tongue traced his bottom lip as his dark eyes watched her with an intensity that made her shiver, “Watching you makes the voices go away.”

Unease twisted her stomach into knots. “Well that's-”

“Unless you don't want to know what Malfoy said.” He neatly interrupted.

Hermione forced out a breath, “I want to know.” 

“Then you'll let me in your room.” 

She twisted her hands nervously. Having him in her room and watching her sleep would be stupid, and bloody well creepy. No. She wouldn't agree. She'd ask Draco. If she didn't go insane first. Because that was a possibility if she didn't find out quickly what the little ferret had said. She could already feel anxiety squeezing her chest tighter and tighter. Maybe she could go to Grimmauld Place as soon as Luna left. But then what if she couldn't get him alone? What if she could never get him alone? 

She pressed a hand to her chest as she began to hyperventilate. Head starting to spin. It was the same feeling she'd sometimes gotten when she had an important assignment due or exams on the horizon. 

No way would she be able to wait. It was a loose end that would drive her insane until it had been neatly tucked away. 

She closed her eyes, “You'll have to agree to a few conditions.”

“Name them.” Barty said.

Hermione opened her eyes, “You don't touch me. Ever.” she quickly racked her brain for more, “You don't stay all night and you're not allowed to touch my stuff.”

“Done.”

Suspicion at his easy compliance had her scowling in annoyance. “Well? What words did Malfoy use?” 

Barty eased to his feet, leaning forward to press his lips to her ear, “The same that you did.”

Outrage widened her eyes as he stepped back and chuckled. “You!...you liar!” She hissed and then further added to his amusement by stamping her foot. 

Thoroughly disgusted, she snatched the letter off the table and practically ran to her room, feet barely touching the shabby carpet. She really wanted the satisfaction of slamming the door in Barty's face. She almost managed it as well, but at the last moment he jammed his foot in the gap and forced his way in. 

Hermione turned her back on him, pretending she didn't see his warning look or Luna's bemused stare. She flopped onto the bed and flicked open the envelope, pulling out the thick parchment. 

“What does he say.” Luna asked. 

Hermione frowned as she read McLaggen's elegant scrawl. “He asks how I am, says he was glad to see me the other night,” Her nose wrinkled, “And he invites me to dine with him tomorrow.” 

Luna clapped her hands, “But that's perfect.”

“Easy for you to say, you don't have to go.” Hermione muttered sourly. 

The blonde tipped her head, “True. And you don't either if you're really against it.”

Hermione grimaced, “It's not that. It's just...” She flicked her gaze at Barty who was standing with his hands clasped behind his back and studying her book collection, “I don't really know how to flirt.” She whispered. 

“Oh, it's really easy. Just smile and maybe stroke your neck,” Luna giggled mischievously as she slowly ran a finger down the slim length of her neck, “Neville likes it when I do that.”

Hermione looked doubtful, and slightly embarrassed that she knew Neville had a thing for Luna's neck. “I don't know if I can do that.”

Luna tapped her lip, “Well I suppose you could try kind of bending over when-”

Barty scoffed, “Don't listen to her.” He sat on the hard backed chair next to her desk, and gave her a bored look, “Just be yourself. It was enough before, and it'll be enough now.”  
Hermione and Luna exchanged a surprised look. That was actually really good advice. And advice Hermione would feel comfortable implementing. Because it would mean she wouldn't have to make a fool of herself, fumbling around and batting her eyelashes. But being herself she could manage. 

“You'll need to be careful.” Luna said.

“It's not me that I'm worried about.” Hermione muttered in a low voice that only Luna could hear. Or at least she hoped. When she glanced at Barty, he was staring at the wall blank eyed and oblivious. 

The blonde smiled in understanding, “It'll work out. The Snarffler's told me so.”

Hermione sighed and flipped back on the bed. They were quiet for a long time after that. Each lost in their own thoughts. It was only when a loud thump from downstairs sounded that Hermione realized how much time had passed. 

She jumped up, “That'll be Arthur.” Luna's hand was cool when Hermione reached for it and pulled her from the room. 

“How's George doing?” Luna asked as they headed downstairs.

Hermione frowned, “He's doing okay. Molly still won't leave his side, so I don't think he'll be in for too long.”

They headed into the kitchen to see Arthur hunched over and eating directly from a glass casserole dish. He flushed when he saw them, wiping a hand across his mouth, “Girls! Forgive me. I didn't have time for lunch and if Molly finds out I haven't eaten since breakfast she'll have my guts for garters!” 

Hermione grinned and took the dish from him, “At least let me warm this for you.” She reached passed him for a plate and serving spoon, before filling the plate with gloopy stew and using a heating charm to warm it through. She waved him towards the table and placed the steaming plate in front of him. “Do you want some Luna?” She asked.

“No thank you. I'm not hungry.” The blonde sat down at the table next to Arthur, “How are you Mr Weasley?” 

“I'm good, Miss Lovegood, and yourself?” 

Luna sighed happily, “Oh, I'm just grand. Planning for the wedding of course. You'll be coming to it won't you?” 

Arthur nodded, “I dare say we will.”

Hermione tuned out as they continued to make meaningless small talk. Instead she was focused on Barty, who'd followed them downstairs and positioned himself next to the Floo. His eyes were closed and he appeared almost asleep. But then suddenly his head swung to the side, his eyes snapped open and he was looking right at her. It was almost like he'd felt her stare. 

She dropped her eyes, wondering what it must be like to never know a peaceful moment. To always be aware of when someone so much as glanced in your direction. It must be exhausting. And lonely. 

Hermione was still thinking about that when Luna tapped her shoulder. “I'm going home now. You'll be in touch?” 

“Yes.” She gabbed Luna's hand and squeezed once. “We'll go over some plans. For the wedding.” 

The blonde nodded, “Goodbye My Weasley and send George my love.”

“I will. I'm actually going to St. Mungos myself in a moment.” He said pushing away his plate and snapping his fingers to get Barty's attention, “Clean this.”   
Hermione felt her eye twitch with the urge to snap at Arthur. Honestly, he could have at least said please. She spun away before he could see the look of outrage she knew her face was showing and walked Luna to the Floo. 

“I hate this.” She whispered into Luna's ear as she gave her a goodbye hug. 

As soon as she was gone, she headed to the stairs. “I'm going to take a bath. Tell George I was asking after him.” She called back over her shoulder. Escaping whilst she had the chance. Even if it was only to the bathroom. Hermione Granger was about to take the longest bath in the history of the world. There by avoiding Barty for as long as possible.   
She quickly collected her Pjs and locked herself in the bathroom. Double warding the door. And then adding another for good measure. Once she felt safe nobody could enter she filled the bath to the top and stripped off her clothes. The water was too hot as she stepped in, but regardless she eased slowly down, wincing as her body was encased in liquid heat.

She dipped her head under, wetting her hair until it fell in slick dark waves around her shoulders. Sighing, she closed her eyes, letting the water soothe her tense muscles. Sweat beaded on her top lip and forehead, brushed aside by her pale hand. The same hand that brushed down the swell of her breast and the dip of her waist. Not in pleasure, but curiosity. All of her adolescent angles were gone, replaced by a women's curves. 

She'd never really thought about it. The three years she'd been locked away in her body. But she supposed that she'd changed just as much as everyone around her had. She'd just never taken the time to really look at herself. A floorboard creaked outside the door. Barty. 

Hermione hissed in irritation. Why the hell wouldn't he leave her alone? Why did he keep hovering over her? She blew out a breath, the steam swirling in intricate patterns. Then set about the long task of washing her hair. Her fingertips were a wrinkled mess when she'd finished, but even then she soaked a little longer. Knowing that the second she left the room he'd follow her. Breathe on her. But at least he couldn't touch her.

She climbed out of the bath only when it became too cold to be comfortable. Then sat on the edge wrapped in a towel as she combed her hair. The entire time her eyes were fixed on the gap at the bottom of the door. Or more precisely on the shadow that shifted back and forth the barest amount. Barty was swaying.

For a while she merely sat, mesmerized. Trying to build up the courage she'd need to walk past him and into her room. The bath had made her sleepy but she wasn't sure she'd be able to knowing he was in the room. Anger rolled up from the pit of her stomach and into her chest. Yet again she was allowing him to intimidate her.   
Well. No longer. 

Hermione snapped to her feet, grabbing her belongings and unwarding the door. Her eyes came face to face with his chest. Snagging on a loose piece of black thread. 

“Excuse me.” She said. 

An endless second passed. Tension filled and full of potential violence. And then he stepped aside. Not a lot. But enough for her to squeeze past. Her shoulder brushed him in passing and her stomach did that odd little flip again. The one she didn't understand but was determined to ignore. 

She didn't bother shutting the door to her room knowing that he would simply open it and follow her. Which of course he did. Pretending he wasn't there, Hermione dumped her stuff but kept her wand, walked over to the bed, drew back the covers and slipped inside. She used her wand to extinguish the light, settled on her side and concentrated on simply breathing. 

“Sleep well, Hermione.” His soft breath brushed her ear and she scowled, scuttling under the blanket until it covered most of her head. 

“What? No goodnight kiss?” He mocked. 

Her heart froze as she recalled the feel of his tongue and lips. Ashamed because she wanted to feel that wet heat again. Only for a moment. Just so she could untangle the strange emotions that kept plaguing her whenever she thought of it. But that would be impossible. And dangerous. And extremely stupid.

“Piss off.” She muttered.

Silence answered her. A silence in which she could pretend she was alone. That a Death Eater wasn't standing a few feet away. Filling the air with a presence that almost pressed down on her. 

Her eyes closed, blocking out everything but the steady beat of her heart. Counting, until she fell asleep.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Barty had been staring at the same spot on the door for the past hour and a half. Just below the handle but above the lock. Eyes narrowed in annoyance and tongue darting out to tap the side of his lip. He was waiting for Hermione to emerge from her room. A place he had only just managed to wrangle his way back into, and now the curly haired witch had the audacity to ban him from again. Even if it was only so she could get dressed for her dinner with that fuckwit McLaggen. He still could have waited in there whilst she got ready. He might even have turned his back if she'd asked him. 

A sneer crossed his face. Tonight was going to be a disaster. His fingers were already twitching with the urge to break something. Someone. And he could feel the madness creeping into his head, ready to pull him under. All this before they even got there. Barty knew the moment the fuckwit so much as breathed on Hermione, his composure would snap in two. It was already fraying at an alarming rate. Darkness seeping into his vision. All because he'd let the curly haired witch crawl into his head. And now she was there he couldn't get rid of her. His tongue flicked out again, a physical display of his agitation. 

From the door he heard a muffled thud. Hermione dropping a shoe or brush or some other feminine nonsense. Prettying herself up for the fuckwit. It was all his own fault of course, he should never have allowed himself to become infatuated with her. Kiss her. And now for the first time in his life Barty...wanted. He wanted Hermione Granger. To possess her, break her, fuck her. And when he was done, he wanted to lock her in a tiny box and keep her for himself. 

The handle twisted, flimsy wooden door swinging open. Warm air brushing his face. Hermione stood on the threshold and the sight of her made his skin prickle unpleasantly. Her neck was the first thing he noticed. Pale, slim and free of her wild tumbling curls. He wanted to wrap his hands around it and feel her pulse flutter against his thumbs. To hold her life in his hands for just a moment would be delicious. His eyes flicked down taking in the rest of her. The figure skimming deep red dress she wore hit just below the knee, neckline dipping low to show the swell of her breasts, arms bare to the shoulders. Mudblood carved on the inside of her forearm in looping letters. 

His dark eyes snagged on the scar. Wanting to lick it and taste the texture on his tongue. Wondering why she chose to leave it on display. Any other girl would have hidden it beneath a glamour. Ashamed. Embarrassed. But he was quickly beginning to realize that Hermione wasn't like other girls. Perhaps that's why he found himself thinking of her so often. 

“Is this okay?” Her soft voice broke through his slow appraisal. Pale hand brushing the silky fabric uncertainly. 

Barty snarled, “It is if you want him to fuck you by the end of the night.” He was viciously satisfied when she flinched. A flush rising to her cheeks.

“I...should I change?” She asked, hesitating before turning back into her room, “I don't think I have anything else. Maybe a shawl?”   
Barty followed behind, catching a whiff of her perfume. Something clean and flowery. “How should I know?” he muttered, standing next to her bed and looking down at the crisp white pillow. 

He'd watched her fall asleep on it last night. Hair spread around her. Soft breaths falling from slightly parted lips. The same lips that he still couldn't quite believe had caressed his own. The muscle in his jaw ticked. She'd surprised him with that kiss. The bravery. The foolishness. The innocence. And she continued to surprise him every time she forgot herself and looked him in the eye, or spoke to him like what he said mattered. Like he existed. The only other person to ever do that had been the Dark Lord. And with him dead, Barty found himself needing a new obsession. Hermione Granger had unwillingly put herself forward. 

“Okay. I think I'm ready.” 

He blinked his way back to the present to see Hermione waiting in the doorway, upper half wrapped in a black velvet shawl. 

“Then by all means, let's not keep the fuckwit waiting.” A feral grin crossed his face when she flinched at his profanity. He deliberately invaded her space, enjoying the slightly alarmed look she made before hastily stepping away.

“Umm.” She started to wander down the stairs, “do you think that you can try and behave tonight?” 

Barty felt his skin chaff at her words. “Perhaps.” 

Hermione winced, glancing over her shoulder to look at him, “I don't want to have to...” She waved her hand in the air, “...punish you.” She explained. 

He fisted his hands, holding on to his temper by a thread, “as I said, perhaps.” he bit out, lips twitching.

When he saw her hesitate he sneered and brushed past her, making his way to the floo. His bones ached with the need to make someone hurt. To hear their screams so loudly that it would drown out the voice that constantly whispered in his ear. The voice that sounded like his father. Always telling him he wasn't good enough. That he was a failure, a disappointment, a shameful stain on the Crouch family name. But the worst memories were the constant repetition of the order's his father had issued under the Imperious curse. 

Stay hidden. 

He had. Fucking years spent cowering under an invisibility cloak, breathing that warm stale air, feeling the material slide along his skin, pressing himself into corners and shivering with the urge to show himself, but knowing that he never could. Acting like a fucking coward.

Stay silent. 

He'd done that to. Locked inside his own head. Listening to his own voice as he slowly descended into insanity with cool detachment. 

After so many years under its influence it had corroded his brain to the jumbled mess is was now. Little wonder his mood could tip with the slightest provocation. The room was swaying, or he was, as he fought his way back from his memories. Ripping himself from their cloying grip. 

Cool fingers touched his wrist. Feather light and uncertain. Instinct made him swing round and wrap his hand around a slim throat. He had a second to register that it was Hermione, before his collar flared white and intense pain sank into his bones. He forced his clenched fingers to loosen and stumbled back, gritting his teeth as it felt like each of his bones was snapped in two. His breath became the only thing he could hear as he concentrated on controlling his temper. 

“Are you okay?” Hermione's voice was hesitant and sounded far away. 

But he knew that was just because he was teetering on the edge of a black out. His eyes squeezed closed as he embraced the pain, letting it drag him back to the present. And just like that he was back. Agony gone. Thoughts his own. Eyes focused and fixed on the red marks marring Hermione's neck. Small smudges the size of his fingers.   
The sight of them made his stomach churn with regret. “I didn't mean to do that.”

Guilt joined the regret as Hermione's eyes softened in understanding. Her pale hand brushed along her neck, gently checking for damage. “It's okay. I shouldn't have touched you when you were...elsewhere.”

Barty sneered, unused to these odd feelings her presence had stirred up inside of him. He didn't like it. Not one bit. He deliberately kept his silence, knowing it would leave her feeling uneasy and giving him the control he needed. 

A nasty smile curved his lips when she shifted, fingers fiddling with the edge of her shawl nervously. Then surprising him when she pulled it free, took out her wand and transfigure it into a small scarf. Barty watched feeling an odd clench in his chest when she looped it around her neck. Hiding the marks he'd given her from view. 

“Maybe we shouldn't go,” Hermione said, peeping from beneath her lashes and seeing his dark stare intent on her, dropping her gaze to the centre of his chest, “I can floo Cormac and tell him that I'm not feeling well.”

“And disappoint the fuckwit?” He said coolly, “wouldn't dream of it.” Barty wandered over to the side of the fireplace and gave a low mocking bow, “after you.” 

For a long moment Hermione simply regarded him, eyes tracing over his features, but never lingering for more than a moment. Whatever she saw made her frown and Barty scowled as she made her way next to him. He stood perfectly still as she reached past him to grab a handful of floo powder. 

“Please don't make me punish you.” She whispered to his chest, before throwing the green dust into the floo, calling out her destination and stepping through.

Barty followed her a second later. Knowing as he went that Hermione would see him at his worst. 

The second Barty stepped into the McLaggen's house he felt the tension inside him rise. A queasy clenching sensation that started in the pit of his stomach and rose up and into his chest. He closed in on Hermione until he felt her heat touch his front. The fuckwit was nowhere to be seen, and all that greeted them were shadowy corners and flickering candles.

But then his eyes snagged on the girl. Parkinson. Kneeling beside the door and waiting to be acknowledged. He lifted a hand, tracing his fingers down the back of Hermione's arm. A soft touch that left goosebumbs in its wake. She jumped away from him, frowning. His lips tightened in annoyance, but couldn't dredge up any real anger at her. Not when her neck bore bruises that he had given her. He waited until she looked at him and jutted his chin at Parkinson. 

“Oh. I didn't see you.” Hermione said, stepping towards the kneeling Parkinson with quick light steps. 

“I'm to tell you that he'll be down momentarily.” Parkinson said, eyes never once straying from the ground in front of her. 

Barty watched in disinterest as Hermione's eyes flashed in anger, before she crouched down, dipping her head until her eyes met Pansy's. 

“I have a message for you.” She whispered, “From Draco.” 

Barty wandered around the room listening with half an ear as Hermione told Parkinson that the Malfoy brat had been asking after her. It was a mistake. The moment he saw the flare of life return to Parkinson's eyes he knew Hermione had made a mistake. He was about to suggest she extract a vow when footsteps came from the hall. 

He hissed a warning. Heart thudding as Hermione pushed to her feet and retreated to the centre of the room. His tongue darted out to swipe the corner of his mouth as the door swung open. 

“Hermione!” The fuckwit entered the room, impeccably dressed, hair slicked back, green eyes sweeping up and down Hermione greedily. “You look perfect.”

“Thanks, you to.” She said stiffening as Cormac pulled her into a hug. 

Barty sneered, clasping his hands behind his back. Tight enough to make his bones flex. Using the pain to ground himself. The sight of the fuckwit's hands lingering on Hermione's arms made him quiver with suppressed rage. She was his. Even if she didn't know it. She was his. And if the fuckwit touched what was his one more time tonight he'd rip his pretty face off. 

“I thought a drink first?” McLaggen said inclining his head. 

He saw Hermione look his way, eyes widening before darting back to McLaggen, “Yes.” she squeaked out. 

Barty narrowed his eyes, glancing down to see that he was swaying. He stopped the motion, forcing his feet into the floor. A trick he knew would only work for so long before the madness overtook him. 

The fuckwit arranged himself on the couch, patting the seat next to him and crooking his finger at Hermione. Barty almost smiled when he saw the sour look that flashed across her face. The clear dislike she had for McLaggen soothed his mounting anger. It lasted a second before it roared back into life. Stoked by the sight of Hermione perching herself on the seat next to McLaggen. 

He felt his face contort into a viscous snarl as the fuckwit clicked the fingers of one hand, the other settling on Hermione's shoulder, like he owned her. From the corner of his eye he saw Parkinson jump to her feet. He twisted his head, tracking her as she flew across the room and towards a cabinet. She fumbled it open, glass clinking as she prepared drinks. When she turned, she was holding two tumblers of Fire whiskey. 

Parkinson made her way across the carpet. Her steps light and eager. Clearly her thoughts were on Malfoy. And it cost her. That lack of attention. 

Parkinson's toe caught on the edge of the rug and she tripped. The glasses falling from her hands and smashing on the floor. A deadly silence fell. Broken only by the panicked breaths of Pansy. 

“You stupid pathetic slut!” McLaggen spat out, pushing to his feet to stand over the shaking Parkinson. 

Barty swung his gaze to Hermione. She looked like she was about to either scream or throw up. Her face was deathly pale and he could see the light scattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks. He shifted forward catching her eye. The moment she focused on him he gave a tiny shake of his head and mouthed, “Don't move.”


	12. Chapter twelve

Chapter Twelve

“Don't move.” Hermione chanted to herself. Don't move. Don't move. Don't move. And she didn't. Not a single inch as Parkinson cowered on the floor, tears dropping onto the scattered pieces of glass. 

“Well?”Cormac said, “You know what happens when you break something.” 

Dread pooled in Hermione's stomach as Pansy slowly lifted a trembling hand and raised it towards McLaggen. As if in supplication. When Hermione looked at Barty he was watching the scene with apparent boredom. But she wasn't fooled in the slightest. She could feel the hostility he radiated from across the room. He was swaying again and she knew that it was a sign that he was close to losing it. 

Hermione switched her attention back to Cormac, heart thudding unevenly as he lifted his wand and held it above Pansy's hand. He muttered a compression hex. The sound of Pansy's finger breaking was very loud in the quiet room. A sharp crack that sounded like a twig snapped in two. Pansy grunted but made no other sound. McLaggen spoke the hex again, breaking another finger. 

Hermione jumped to her feet, the room tilting as she fought to stay upright. From the corner of her eye she saw Barty step towards her. A Warning for her to stay silent. To remember that one word from Cormac could make her disappear. But she couldn't just allow it to happen. She wouldn't. 

As McLaggen opened his mouth to spit out the compression hex again, Hermione interrupted. “That's punishment enough isn't it?” 

Cormac twisted his head to give her a considering look. “And what makes you think that.”

Hermione jutted her chin at the shattered glass, “Two broken glasses and two broken fingers.” She shrugged her shoulders in apparent unconcern. “Besides, I came here to see you, not Parkinson. And I refuse to let her spoil our night.” She finished crossing her arms and pouting as she had seen Lavender do just days ago.

Please work. Please work. Please work. She frantically prayed, knowing she wouldn't be able to stand by and let McLaggen continue to break Pansy's fingers. 

She couldn't quite believe it when Cormac smiled and put away his wand. But her throat closed when McLaggen pointed to the jagged slivers of glass.

“Kneel there and don't move.” He commanded Pansy. 

Tears welled in Hermione's eyes as the dark haired witch slowly moved, mangled fingers held against her chest. Arranging herself onto the sharp pieces of tear stained glass. Pansy winced, a gasp falling from her lips when her weight settled fully onto her knees. Blood welled, soaking into the rug, in a rapidly spreading patch.

Hermione flushed ice cold, skin prickling. She felt sick and unbalanced. And utterly disappointed with herself. She shouldn't be allowing this to happen. It made her no better than any of them. When she glanced at McLaggen he was preparing more drinks. Her eyes narrowed on his back, wanting nothing more than to make him suffer as Pansy was. 

“I spoke to the Patil's yesterday, well Parvati,” McLaggen said wryly, turning with two fresh glasses, “They told me you might be interested in joining one of my games nights.” He winked, eyes dipping to her chest. 

Hermione forced her lips to shape a smile, “did they?” She took the offered glass ignoring the way his fingers brushed hers in a deliberate manner. 

“Yes.” He sat, pulling her down next to him, too close, and filling her nose with his pungent aftershave, “You'll be my special guest.” 

Hermione took a swallow of her fire whiskey so she didn't have to answer him. Relishing the burn as it slid down her throat. The entire time a voice was babbling in the back of her mind. Telling her to do something. Anything. Her eyes kept flicking to Pansy and the spreading pool of blood. And then up to Barty, who was quivering as he watched Cormac's fingers trail up and down her bare arm. 

Hermione blinked. Unsure of the precise moment McLaggen had begun to touch her. She swallowed the last of her whiskey in one quick swallow. Then stood, removing herself from his wandering hands and placed the empty glass on a side table.

“So tell me of your work,” She glanced at him over her shoulder, “What do you do at the Ministry?”

Cormac shifted, folding his ankle onto his knee, laying an arm across the back of the sofa, “Come sit with me and I'll tell you.”

Hermione fiddled with the folds of her dress. She didn't want to sit with him again. Not whilst the room stank of blood and Pansy was desperately trying to hold back her whimpers. And on top of all that she could feel Barty's stare warning her not to move. 

“Unless you have a problem sitting by me?” McLaggen's oily voice reached her ears.

She shook her head, “Why would I?” Her legs were stiff as she regained her seat, every muscle held tight as she forced herself to sit within the curve of his arm. To pretend that she wasn't repulsed by him. 

His fingers dangled off the top of the sofa to play with the strap of her dress, “I work as my father's assistant.”

Hermione cocked her head, “Doing what?”

Cormac grinned, teeth flashing white as he slowly eased towards Hermione, stopping only when his lips touched her ear, “assisting.” He whispered, deliberately letting his tongue touch her skin. 

“Fuckwit!” Barty's voice spat out with such hatred that Hermione was surprised that Cormac didn't choke on it.

A long second of absolute silence. So thick that Hermione actually believed she could step on it and walk through the air. Her head turned slowly to the side, taking in Cormac's incredulous look and beyond him Barty's manic grin and flat dead eyes. 

“What did you say?” McLaggen hissed, unfurling from the chair with stiff grace. 

From her place on the floor Pansy whimpered. And it was that pitiful sound that had Hermione jumping to her feet. Breath sawing in and out. Panic lodged in her throat.   
Barty swayed forward, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “I called you a fuckwit.” 

Cormac flushed a deep red, snatching for his wand. But before he could reach it, Barty leapt across the room knocking McLaggen to the ground. Hermione saw the collar flare white, just as Barty lifted his fist and pummelled it into Cormac's face. His features were twisted into a snarling mask as he repeatedly hit Cormac, again and again. Fist blurring with the speed of his assault. Blood spraying up in the air. The collar was a seething mass of white around his neck.

And then suddenly, Barty slumped to the side. Unconscious. The collar's fail safe finally kicking in. The air filled with the sound of Cormac's groans and Pansy's constant weeping. 

Hermione blinked, wondering how everything had turned so bad, so very quickly. She flinched when McLaggen shoved to his feet, a murderous look in his eye as he glared at the still unconscious Barty.

Dread filled her chest as she frantically thought of a way out of this. “Cormac, I'm so sorry!” She said, grabbing his arm and tugging until he twisted to face her. 

His face was covered in blood and she was viscously pleased to see his nose was ever so slightly wonky, his eyes were swollen and a large split dissected his bottom lip. She withdrew her wand, “Let me heal that before you punish him.” 

McLaggen hesitated before giving a sharp nod. But she could see that he was thinking up awful ways to make Barty pay. Ways that Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to witness. 

Hermione lifted her wand and pointed it at the centre of McLaggen's chest. “Stupefy!”

A loud thump as Cormac dropped to the ground, followed by a startled gasp. She spun to face Pansy, who was white faced and shaking. Eyes so wide they were in danger of falling out of her head. Hermione knew that if she were to look in the mirror her own face would be wearing the same expression. 

Not allowing herself to think she pointed at Pansy, “Get up.”

Pakinson didn't move, still staring at the Stupefied Cormac in disbelief. Hermione rushed towards her grabbing her arm and pulling the dark haired witch to her feet.

“Will that have registered at the Ministry?” She asked, reaching for Pansy's hand, careful not to jostle the broken fingers and preparing to cast an Episkey over them. 

“Don't” 

Hermione frowned, “Why?” 

Silky black hair swung to the side as Pansy whipped her head around to look at McLaggen, “He'll know.” 

“No. He won't. Now let me heal your fingers.” Hermione demanded, “and tell me if that will have registered at the Ministry.”

“I don't think so,” Pansy winced as her first finger was reset, “Barty didn't use magic to attack Cormac and the spell you used is considered non lethal.”

Hermione let out a breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding and fixed the second finger. “How long will Barty be out?”

“Five minutes?” Pansy replied, blinking in surprise when Hermione crouched down and began to expel the shards of glass. Dropping them into the pool of blood, where they stuck out like clear sharp pebbles. 

Hermione nibbled her lip as she cleaned away the last of the blood coating Pnasy's knees, “Here's what we'll do,” She pushed to her feet, “You clean up the glass and every speck of blood you see, I'll heal Cormac and when he I bring him round, Obliviate this whole evening out of his head.”  
Pansy let out a huff, “But-”

Hermione shook her head, “No buts. That's what were doing.” She walked over to McLaggen, stepping over his sprawled legs and quickly healing his face. Taking less care than she had with Pansy, but making sure he looked flawless nevertheless. 

As she worked her gaze kept flicking to the side to check on Barty. His face looked perfectly blank and so pale it made his brown hair look black. If it wasn't for the rise and fall of his chest, she would have mistaken him for dead. She only hoped that when he did wake up, he was back in control of himself. Barty on a rampage wasn't something she thought she'd be able to control. He'd been like a wild animal. And fast. So very fast.

“Why are you doing this?” Pansy asked, a meek edge to her voice that Hermione knew was down to years of abuse. 

“Because what they're doing is wrong.” She frowned at Cormac's blank green eyes, “And I can't just let it happen. I won't.” She glanced up at Pansy's pale blue eyes, “Will you help me?”

“Is Draco?” 

Hermione nodded her head and the moment she did, she saw a flash of the old Pansy rise to the surface. Just a glimpse, but enough for Hermione to grin. “I'll need a vow of secrecy.”

“Okay. Now?” Pansy said with a determined edge that made her eyes glow.

“We'll have to wait for Barty to wake up.” She chuckled when she saw Pansy's grimace. “Let's get Cormac on the chair. Do you have a sleeping potion handy?” At Pansy's nod she continued, “We can douse him with fire whiskey and the potion, once I Obliviate him, he'll think he got pissed and passed out.”

They each looped a hand under Cormac's arm and pulled. Nothing happened. They tried again with the same result. “Maybe the sleeping potion first.” Hermione said, frowning.   
Pansy disappeared through a door as Hermione jiggled from foot to foot. Her heart almost exploded from her chest when she heard the rustle of fabric behind her. She spun around to see Barty stirring. He wasn't awake yet, but he was close. She crept closer, teeth chewing on her lip. 

Dark eyes opened. Blank and slightly manic. “Barty?”

He blinked, face twisting into a sneer, as he pushed to his feet. The second he spotted McLaggen he lurched towards him. 

“Stop!” Hermione yelped, grabbing his wrist, “Barty, leave him!”

The order hit home and Barty had no choice but to comply. But he didn't like it. She could tell by the way his jaw turned to stone. “I have it under control.”

The ex Death Eater threw her a lethal look, before stalking to the corner and glaring at the prone McLaggen. If looks could kill then the blonde prat would be dead.

Hermione ignored him, levitating Cormac onto the sofa and waiting for Pansy to return. As soon as the dark haired witch came back she grabbed the potion and poured a few drops into Cormac's mouth. “We'll wait a few minutes, maybe do the vow first.”

She turned to face Barty, fixing her gaze on his chest, “Would you seal it for us?”

“I am but here to serve you.” He mocked. 

Hermione gestured for Pansy to follow her towards Barty. She felt uneasy getting so close to him after his...incident. But his mood seemed to have flipped from insane to faintly cruel, and that she could handle. She passed him her wand, hand only trembling the smallest amount.

They made the vow quickly. Hermione making sure she listened to each word Pansy spoke. Not wanting a repeat of Barty offering her deals. As soon as it was done she took back her wand and marched over to Cormac.

A murmured word had him waking from the Stupefy. The second his eyes cleared she placed the tip of her wand to the side of his head and muttered, “Obliterate.”

Hermione removed every memory of the last ten minutes, siphoning them into half empty bottle of Fire whiskey. Leaving him with the image of Pansy turning from the drinks cabinet, two glasses of fire whiskey in her hands. By the time she was finished, Cormac was sleeping. 

“That should do.” She said, passing the bottle to Pansy, “Get rid of this.” 

She watched as Pansy walked to a window, opened it and tipped the whiskey and memories onto the ground outside.

“I think we should go before he wakes up.” Hermione said, looking at Pansy, “But from now on I want you to watch and listen. Especially when anything about the Ministry comes up. Can you do that?” 

Pansy was shaking, but she gave Hermione a determined nod, “How will I tell you what I hear?” 

“I'll find a way,” Hermione said, drawing closer to the Floo, “And for Merlin's sake be careful.” She waited until Barty was pressing close before grabbing a handful of Floo powder.

“Granger?” Pansy's desperate voice halted her movements. “Don't tell Draco what happened tonight.” 

Hermione smiled gently and nodded her head in understanding. “I won't.” 

The last thing she saw as she stepped through the green flames was Pansy, hugging herself and quietly weeping. 

The Burrow was silent and dark as they stepped through, Arthur probably asleep or with Molly at St Mungo's pestering George. She felt stiff and disconnected as she made her way to the stairs, unfastening the neck tie as she went. It wasn't until she'd reached her room that she realised that Barty was behind her. 

He had a way of doing that. Blending into the background and making you forget he was there. And then suddenly you could feel him. Watching you. She turned to face him, cursing the shadows for hiding his expression from view. A long tense second passed as they both regarded each other in silence. 

And then he moved. A slow gliding step that brought him near. 

Hermione stood perfectly still as Barty inched towards her. Soft fingertips brushed her face, pressed into her cheeks, forcing her head up and back. Exposing her neck to his warm breath. 

“I really never meant to mark you.” He murmured against her skin. 

She shuddered bringing her hands up to rest on his shoulders. A second away from pushing him back. Soft lips touched her. Hair brushing the side of her jaw. A warm wet tongue swiping across a bruise with a gentleness that made Hermione's eyes flutter shut. All thoughts left her as the slick feel of his mouth caressed her neck in slow languid kisses. His body lightly touched her from chest to thigh. And the hands that rested upon his shoulders clenched tightly onto the material and pulled him closer. 

A sigh eased out of her throat as his lips travelled across her neck. Jumping from bruise to bruise. Kissing with slow deliberateness. Her heart thudded dangerously fast as she fought to breathe. Stomach dipping. She unclenched a hand from his shirt and lifted it to his head plunging it through the silky strands. Dragging her nails across his scalp.  
“Hermione?” He whispered into her ear. 

She stilled, sanity returning to her and coating her skin with ice, “What?”

A feather light kiss where ear met neck, “I'd rather you didn't let the fuckwit touch you again.”

Silence. A long telling silence. One in which Hermione grit her teeth ad wondered what the hell she was doing. “I shouldn't be letting you touch me either.” She muttered. 

Lips curved into a smile against her skin, “and yet you are.” 

Her hands unclenched, dropping to her side. “We can't do this.”

Barty stepped away, eyes narrowed as he regarded her. “I see.”

Hermione dropped her head, staring at the blood that spotted her dress. “This has stupid written all over it, and honestly? I'm not even sure why you want to touch me in the first place,” Her eyes darted up to meet his for a brief second, “I'm a Mudblood remember?”

“I'm willing to look past that.” 

She scoffed at his arrogance, “How gracious of you.”

His lips curved into that infuriating secret smile, “Isn't it?” 

Hermione swallowed, stomach churning as he watched her with that predatory stare. The one that made her nervous and fidgety at the same time. “Well. I'm tired, and I expect you are to, so goodnight.”

She swung the door shut on him. Knowing that he'd only creep in during the night and watch her whilst she slept. But at least she'd have a few hours without his oppressive presence hovering over her. And she definitely needed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still pretty new to posting on here, so it's taking me a little while to get used to how things works. But I wanted to say thank you to everyone who has read and left kudos, and comments, as well as those who had added me to their subscriptions ect. I'll also be transferring my other stories from fanfic in the next few weeks.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Pansy's knees were aching. A dull throb that pulsed in time with her heart and spiralled up into her thighs. Her ankles had been tingling with pins and needles for the past five minutes but she didn't dare move. Not even when her toes stiffened with cramp. Instead she kept her head down, low, so her chin touched her chest and her hair fell either side of her face. Hiding her expression from view. She chewed the side of her cheek as she fought to remain still. 

Cormac was in a bad mood. And whenever that happened he would inevitably take it out on Pansy. But sometimes, if she could remain perfectly still, he would overlook her presence. She was praying that this would be one of those times. A bad tempered snarl sounded across the room, followed by the thump of a heavy book hitting a desk.

“Tell me again what happened.” Cormac demanded, scraping back his chair and pushing away from the desk. 

Pansy's heart sank as Cormac's sharp footsteps walked towards her, “You were both drinking and then-”

“From the beginning.” He interrupted, standing over her. The toes of his immaculately polished boots touching her knees.

She fought the tremble that threatened to overwhelm her. Knowing that the sight of her fear would only increase his desire to punish. To blame her for his lack of memory of the previous night. Her hands, tightly clasped in her lap were white with tension as she thought of what to say. It would need to be something that stroked his vast ego. And nothing that would raise his suspicions. 

Pansy licked her dry lips, “When Granger arrived, she sat by you and I brought you both a drink.” Her eyes flicked back and forth across the patterned rug as she searched for the right words, “You were talking-”

“Yes. What were we talking about?” He asked, reaching down to take a strand of her hair, and tugging. Just short of pain, but with the promise of it should she do something he disliked. 

Pansy swallowed. Frantically thinking about what to say. What Granger would want her to say. “You invited her to one of your parties and-”

“Pansy.” The hand on her hair tightened, fingers tangling in the soft strands and pulling with vicious force, “I have the horrible suspicion that you're being evasive.” Her head was yanked back until she had no choice but to meet his gaze, “I'm asking myself why that is.”

“No.” she stuttered, “I just don't understand what it is you want me to say.”

Cormac studied her for a moment before speaking, “Did I flirt with Hermione?” 

Pansy sucked in a breath, “Yes.”

“And was she amenable to those advances?” 

“Yes.” She whispered, hoping she was saying the right thing. 

A smug smile curved his lips as his eyes lost focus. No doubt fantasying about the things he would do to the wild haired witch when he had the opportunity. Pansy knew that look. It had been aimed at her often enough to feel pity for Granger. But at the same time; relieved. Because it meant his attention would be elsewhere and maybe, just maybe, she would be left alone. If only for a little while.

Those hopes were quickly dashed when his eyes sharpened and landed on the collar circling her throat. The hand on her hair loosened, the soft strands slipping free. And Pansy knew real fear as his fingers danced along her cheek. 

“You've pleased me Pansy.” He said softly, “do you know what I do to people who please me?” 

Her heart thudded, “No.” She whispered. Giving him the answer that he wanted to hear. 

Cormac smiled down at her, blonde hair sweeping across his forehead, “Get on your back.” He ordered. 

Pansy slowly did as commanded, reclining onto her back, hands clenched into tight fists by her side, gaze fixed firmly on the pale cream ceiling. As soon as she settled in place, Cormac began to undo his pants, at the same time using a foot to push her dress to her waist. She had no knickers to remove. Cool air brushed her flesh as she fought a shudder.  
When Cormac bent down, Pansy disappeared inside of herself. It was what she always did. A trick she'd learned after the very first time. Of course back then it wasn't Cormac who was raping her, but his father. But in truth it didn't matter to Pansy who it was grunting and thrusting on top of her; not when she was in the quiet dark place inside her brain.   
But this time it wasn't dark, or quiet. This time when she retreated it was full of sounds and images. Moving pictures of the night before. Of the glasses smashing on the floor, candlelight catching the sharp edges and reflecting like diamonds. Her crooked broken fingers, throbbing with pain. But the best images, the ones that almost made her want to smile were of Barty hitting Cormac, and Granger telling her that Draco was thinking of her. After all this time, he was still thinking of her. And when Pansy had heard that, her heart had...lifted. 

The fog of despair had thinned and her breathing had become less of an effort. A spark of excitement had settled in the pit of her stomach. All with just a few hastily spoken words. She'd been given hope, and it was that hardly remembered emotion that had made her trip and drop the glasses. And then suddenly it had disappeared as quickly as it'd arrived. Fear had drenched her, knowing the coming punishment would be harsh. But Granger had spoken and the punishment had stopped. 

And she was glad. Grateful even. 

She could hardly believe that she'd been appreciative of Granger's presence. A girl she'd been taught to hate before she'd even met her. All because of the blood that flowed through her veins. But the odd thing was that Pansy had never really hated Granger, she'd honestly never really even thought of her at all. But her fellow Slytherins had, and so she'd gotten into the habit of it as well. The hatred. The names and sneers.

Yet even then, Pansy had seen the magic she was capable of, seen the things the golden trio could do, and secretly envied the crazy haired witch. And she knew that if anyone was capable of unlocking their collars and setting them free, then it was Hermione Granger. Even if the task seemed impossible. She would somehow find a way. She had to or Pansy wouldn't survive another year. 

Hot damp breath touched her face as Cormac increased his pace. Slamming into her again and again. So like his father in the way he fucked that Pansy sometimes lost track of who it was above her. One final brutal thrust and he emptied himself inside her. Before pulling free, climbing to his feet and tucking himself away. 

“There. What do you say to me?” His breathless voice asked. 

Pansy remained on the floor, eyes fixed to the bland ceiling, “Thank you.” She said wondering if Granger would let her kill him. It was only fair that she be allowed to after all. And if anyone deserved to die then it was Cormac McLaggen. Followed swiftly by his father. 

He gave her a smug smile. The one that she'd come to hate so much. It showed just a hint of white teeth. And made his eyes squint the smallest amount. “Now, I'm meeting my father at the Ministry, you'll remain here until I return.” He said making his way to the Floo. 

Pansy kept her face impassive but inside she was jumping for joy. Hours. She would have hours to herself. As soon as she heard the whoosh of the Floo activating she pushed into a sitting position and used her wand to preform a quick scourgify. After all he hadn't said she couldn't clean herself. Once that was done, she scooted up onto the chair. Sighing as the soft cushion cradled her. Ordinarily she wouldn't dare take such a chance. But she felt oddly defiant. A spark of her old self flickering to life inside. 

Pansy closed her eyes, tipping back on the soft velvet. And as she always did when she had time to herself; she remembered. It wasn't long after the battle. The wizarding world was still in tatters. The Ministry had begun to round up the Death Eaters. Those who were considered the most dangerous first. With no Azkaban to imprison them within, they were housed beneath the Ministry. Locked in various rooms where they could do no harm.

The very air had seemed drenched in fear. Every move and breath was monitored. Some had tried to leave the country. Pansy's own parents had considered it. But then the Ministry had started seizing wands. And there were rumours of those who attempted, or even thought of leaving, disappearing. They didn't know it at the time but the Ministry had found a way to break the bond between elf and master. And the treacherous elves were whispering secrets into the Ministries ear. 

Pansy had cried herself to sleep every night. The only comfort she'd had were the letters Draco sent her. Sweet words of love and a future they would never have. And then one day they had stopped. The owl never arriving. Draco had been arrested. The absolute terror she'd felt had been soul destroying. Sleep had become a thing of the past, and when she had snatched a few hours, they'd been filled with dreams of blood and death and screams. 

But even then, nobody knew what was happening. More rumours surfaced of a wizard newly arrived from the continent. A wizard who had come up with a way for the Death Eaters to be rehabilitated. The relief had been palpable. And then they had come for Pansy and her parents. Her father had died resisting arrest. Pansy had watched. Confusion clouding her head as he fell to the ground and didn't move. The scream her mother had uttered had almost shattered her eardrums. And she had just stood there and watched. Incapable of any movement or sound. The rest was a blur. A spell had hit her causing white hot heat to travel down her spine. And then darkness. 

It was her mother's voice that she came around to. A soft gentle murmur, whispering bits of nonsense into her ear. 

“It's okay.” She'd said, “We'll be okay. We just need to be strong. Promise me you'll be strong.” The words spoken over and over again on an endless loop.

They'd taken her mother away two hours later. Pansy had never seen her again. Later, much later, Cormac had told her, quite gleefully, that she'd died. Unable to cope with the punishments and grief. She'd given up. Pansy had hated her for that. For telling her to be strong, when she hadn't. 

When they'd come to take her from the room, she'd been ready for whatever it was they had planned. It had lasted until she'd been led into a sterile white room and tied to a chair. That was the first time Pansy had seen the collar. A thick clunky thing that looked like a medieval torture device. Struggling had been impossible as a portly wizard picked it up and settled it around her neck. The cold sharp edges instantly digging into her skin. Too tight to be comfortable. Too heavy to forget. 

And then the wizard had muttered a spell. A jumble of Latin and another language she didn't recognise. The pain as the collar activated had been horrendous. Like a thousand hot needles plunged into her spine and twisted back and forth. Her muscles felt as if they were being stretched to breaking point and then released to snap back into place. Once again she'd blacked out. Waking much later in the same room as before.

Several days had passed. The only visitor; an elf, who'd brought her food and drink and not much else. But then out of the blue, McLaggen senior had arrived. Standing in the doorway, with the same arrogance Cormac possessed. 

“Stand.” He'd ordered. 

Pansy had stood. Twitching with the effort to disobey. Anger and terror making her heart thud in an alarming way, as the true purpose of the collar became apparent. McLaggen had dropped his eyes in slow appraisal. Studying her body, pausing on the silky length of black hair that swept down her back. 

And then he'd turned and walked out of the room. Slamming the door closed behind him. Pansy had thought that was the last time she'd ever have to see him again. But later that night she been taken to the McLaggen house. And raped for the first time a few hours later. It was only the senior McLaggen at first. Raping her. But then he'd grown bored and passed her over to Cormac. He had yet to grow bored. 

A sound from the fireplace had her lunging to the floor. Head shaking away the memories of the past. A second later Cormac stepped out. Pansy was ready. Sitting on her knees, hands clasped demurely in her lap, eyes downcast. 

Cormac wandered over to the drinks cabinet, “Those meetings are always such a bore. Grown men bickering like children.” He muttered as he searched for the expensive fire whiskey hidden at the back.

Pansy's ears perked up. Discord in the Ministry? Surely that was the sort of thing Granger wanted to hear. 

Cormac sighed dramatically as he poured his whiskey, returned the bottle and then circled the chair to sit down. His eyes darkened as he took a drink. Fixing her with a sharp look. His hand came down to rest next to his thigh on the chair. He smiled. 

“Pansy why is this seat warm?” Cormac said, voice saccharine sweet.

Her eyes closed in horror. She'd made a mistake. A huge glaring mistake that would cost her dearly. It was confirmed when he withdrew his wand and said, “Now. Where shall we begin?”


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

The pale green shirt Hermione was wearing didn't suit her. Barty much preferred it when she wore darker colours. Nighttime shades that emphasized her pale skin and made her brown eyes glow like fire whiskey held up to the sun. He also liked it when she allowed her hair to tumble free down her spine. A mass of curls that he could tangle his hands into. Clenching his fingers to hold her in place. Like he had that time they'd kissed. Her hair wasn't free now, though. It was held firmly in place at the base of her skull. Innocent and demure. Although it did give him a view of her perfect slim neck. Pale and full of delicate little bones. The bruises he'd given her hidden beneath a concealing charm. But there all the same. 

She was in the kitchen helping Molly Weasley pack some cake and biscuits into a woven basket. He was in his usual place by the fire. Watching her. Always watching her. They would shortly be heading over to Potter's house. Hermione had been invited to dinner. And where she went, he would trail behind. His lips pursed as she bent to pick up a fallen tea towel. Eyes tracing her curves. Imaging what it would be like to step up behind her, place his hands on her hips and tug her against him. Grind and rub until she gasped.

“Now be sure to tell Ginny that I want to see her before the weeks out.” Molly said, breaking his concentration and setting his teeth on edge. The sound of her voice like nails on a chalkboard. One day he would rip out her throat. Tear it out and crush it beneath his heel. Then he wouldn't have to hear the screeching bossy tone ever again.  
Hermione smiled, “I will.” 

Barty watched as she lifted the too heavy basket and made her way towards the floo. Towards him. Carefully avoiding his gaze. But he knew she was aware of him. Could see it in the way her body tensed and the hint of a blush that tinged her cheeks. He waited until she passed him and then immediately stepped forward. Standing almost close enough for his chest to touch her back. Sharing heat and scent. The tension in her body increased. Barty smiled. A small hidden thing that hovered rather than settled. He'd begun to discover that there were different ways to torture Hermione Granger. Ways that didn't make the collar flare white and send pinpricks of pain along his spine. Ways that he'd begun to crave.  
Her elbow hit his ribs when she reached for the floo powder. Not a deliberate action, but caused because he was standing so near. He didn't need to see her face to know her lips would be folded in annoyance. Those fire whiskey eyes sparking with a thousand things she wanted to say to him, but didn't dare. Hoping that if she ignored him long enough then he would tire of the game. Leave her alone to play inside his own head instead. It was a foolish hope. 

Dull green filled his vision as Hermione stepped into the floo, disappearing from view. A second later he joined her. Eyes flicking around the room, cataloguing those present before settling once again on her. 

“Your mother sent these over.” She said handing the basket to Ginny Weasley, who in turn handed it over to her brother without even looking at the contents. 

“I swear she thinks we're starving to death here.” Ginny said looping her arm through Hermione's and pulling her onto the couch. Both of them ignoring the scowling Lavender and chipmunk-cheeked Ron. 

“Where's Harry?” He heard Hermione ask as he wandered into the corner of the room. Displacing the Malfoy brat. Who at least had the good sense to back away and drop his gaze. 

“Still at work. He'll be here soon.” Ginny said studying her nails. 

Barty eased against the wall, breathing in the mould drenched air. Allowing the idle chatter to fade into the background as his voices swam back to the surface. They weren't as loud as usual but they were persistent and annoyingly demanding. They continued to whisper in his ear as he studied the others. Lavender had a hand clenched around Ron's arm. Every other second she would glare at Hermione and tighten her grip. As if afraid her gormless husband would suddenly leap across the room. Throw Hermione to the floor and fuck her into the dusty rug. Barty's eyes narrowed. As if the spineless redhead had the guts. And as if he'd let him. 

Feeling Barty's hard stare, Ron shifted. Wide blue eyes lifting to his. A sneer curled the Death Eaters lips when the boy gulped, swallowing his mouthful of biscuit, licking the crumbs from his lips. His gaze darted towards Draco. Perhaps wondering if the blonde was aware of Barty's malevolent gaze. And if so; what he intended to do about it. Realizing the answer was a big fat nothing, Ron dropped his eyes and shuffled towards the chairs opposite Hermione and Ginny, pulling Lavender along with him. 

As soon as they were seated, the atmosphere in the room changed. An awkward tension surrounding them. At least for everyone else. Barty rather enjoyed the prickly sensation that now filled the air. 

“How was your date with Cormac?” Lavender said, narrowing her eyes on Hermione. Seeking a way to embarrass her in front of her friends. 

“It wasn't a date.” Hermione snapped.

Lavender smiled, a seemingly genuine expression. But it didn't quite reach her eyes, “that isn't what everyone's saying.”

Ginny swung forward red hair flaring behind her, “Maybe you shouldn't listen to gossip.”

The ridiculous blonde pouted, “It isn't gossip.” 

An evil little smile played along Ginny's lips, “I heard some gossip as well.” She cocked her head to the side, “Something about Ron kissing Hermione during the final battle.”   
Jealousy boiled up Barty's stomach and into his throat. It left an acrid bitter taste on the back of his tongue that swallowing wouldn't remove. One look at the bastard Weasley's flushed guilty face and he knew it was true. As did the Lavender girl. Who looked like she was about to have a stroke. Judging by her bulging eyes and maroon face. 

“AHHH!” She yelled, pushing to her feet and running from the room. 

Ron's panicked gaze watched her leave, “Lav!” He squeaked jumping up to follow her. 

The moment the door swung shut behind him Ginny burst into hysterical laughter. “Did you see her face?”

Hermione was frowning. Little grooves forming between her eyebrows. “That isn't funny Ginny.” 

Barty agreed. The thought of that soppy fool's lips touching Hermione's was sickening. And infuriating. And not in the least bit funny. Slight movement out of the corner of his eye had him twisting to the side and snarling. Malfoy. The pale haired Death Eater backed up, hands raised, eyes averted. Barty's spine stiffened as he fought the urge to lash out. 

The voice of his father telling him to stay silent and still. The need to disobey that hated command made him tremble. Darkness seeping into his vision. A droplet of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. The room began to sway. Or he did. He could no longer tell. 

He had no idea what he would have done if Harry fucking Potter hadn't chosen that moment to step through the floo. 

“I'm late I know, sorry.” He said removing his glasses to tiredly swipe at his eyes. “It's been one of those days.” 

Hermione and Ginny both got to their feet, the redhead slotting herself against Harry's side. Hermione standing awkwardly in front of them. 

“Where's Ron?” Harry asked shuffling away from Ginny to tug off his robes. 

“With Lav, Lav. Sulking. Arguing.” Ginny shrugged her shoulders in apparent unconcern, taking hold of Hermione's arm and dragging her out of the room. 

Barty followed. Making sure to keep them in sight. Counting his steps in order to reign in his temper. He was aware of Potter and Malfoy following behind but he ignored them. Keeping his gaze on the back of Hermione's head. They entered a dining room. A large rectangular area, dominated by a huge slab of a table. It had been immaculately set for five people. He waited until Potter, Weasley, and Hermione had taken their seats before finding a place to stand. Somewhere he could see her face. 

Right now she looked perplexed, “Who cooks your food? Draco?” 

Harry and Ginny burst out laughing. And from the opposite end of the room Malfoy scowled at the tables edge. 

“No!” Potter gasped. “He'd poison us all without even trying!” 

Hermione frowned again, “So where does it come from then?” 

Ginny threw a fork at the still chuckling Potter and looked at Hermione, “Some of the elves wanted to keep their old jobs. Cooking and stuff. So the Ministry came up with a kind of communal kitchen for them to work in.”

“Like at Hogwarts?” Hermione asked.

Ginny nodded, “Yes. Everyone who wants to has their name placed on a list. The elves cook whatever we want and deliver it.” 

“Elf take out.” Hermione muttered just as Harry clicked his fingers and five steaming plates of food appeared before them. 

For the next few minutes the only sound was the scrape of cutlery and distantly Lavender's shrill scream and what sounded like a book hitting a door. Each of them pretended not to here. Although, Ginny did smile at a particularly loud thump. 

“So Harry. I wanted to ask you if it would be possible for me to speak to someone at the Ministry.” Hermione asked between bites. 

Potter stopped eating, fork raised halfway to his mouth, “Mione-”

Hermione gave an exasperated look. One which Barty didn't believe for a second. And neither did Potter by the wary look that crept into his eyes. 

“I want a job.” 

Potter blinked. Ginny looked suspicious. Draco rolled his eyes. And Barty regarded her without expression. 

“I'm serious. I wanted to work for the Ministry before I woke up and I want to work for them now.” She said. 

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” Ginny asked.

Hermione gave a short sharp nod. “I can't stay hidden in the Burrow forever. And I'm only asking to speak to someone, not run the place for goodness sake! I need to find out what my options are.” She fixed those wide brown eyes on Potter, “Please Harry.” 

Barty saw the exact moment Potter gave in. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly and his bottle green eyes dulled to murky pond water. “Only if you swear to behave.” 

Hermione looked at Harry for a long serious minute. “I promise you I won't do anything to put you in danger. I really do just want to talk to someone about working there.”

“Okay. I'll see what I can do.” He replied, less tense than he had been. Perhaps because he believed what she was saying. But Barty could hear the lie she spoke. Even if her so called friends couldn't. And he'd seen the way Malfoy had been looking at her lap and rolling his eyes. The lap where her hand had dropped out of Potter and Weasley's sight. The lap where he was positive her fingers were crossed in order to nullify the lie. 

The rest of the meal passed in relative peace. Broken only by the occasional scream and bump from above. Barty tuned out after a little while. Growing bored of the pointless conversation. He couldn't even pass the time intimidating Malfoy because the slippery worm had positioned himself across the room and refused to look at him. So instead he thought up ways that he'd kill all those who'd tortured him. 

“Barty?” 

He blinked his way back to the present to see Hermione standing in front of him. He had no idea how much time had passed. A quick glance showed empty plates and glasses. 

“It's time to go.” She said softly not meeting his gaze. 

He smirked, stepping into her. She stumbled back, eyes darting up to glare at him, before twisting around and making her way back to the living room and floo. Barty hovered close as she stepped through, following her a second later. 

Hermione nodded her head, “Thank you.” She said making her way to the kitchen and Molly Weasley. 

Barty scowled, settling himself by the floo. Unable now to tease, or let her know of his displeasure at her kissing the idiot Weasley. He remained that way for over an hour. Listening to them chatting and the dull clack as Molly knitted one of her appalling jumpers. Unable to stand it any longer, he made his silent way passed them and to the back door. He felt Hermione's gaze on the back of his neck the entire time. He could almost feel her relief when the door swung shut behind him.   
It wouldn't last. As soon as night cloaked the sky he'd be paying the little witch a visit. 

It was dark when he entered Hermoine's room. Only her soft breaths disturbing the peace. A sliver of moonlight seeped through the window, spilling onto the bed and illuminating Hermione's face. Her eyes were wide open and staring at him. She didn't say a word as he walked towards the bed. Not even when he pulled back the sheets and eased in beside her. Sliding close. Draping his thigh over hers. Laying his palm against the pulse thudding in her neck. Letting his fingertips trace patterns against her skin. 

He smirked when she trembled. Grinned when her flesh erupted into a thousand tiny bumps. “Do you like it when I touch you?” 

She froze. Eyes full of fear as she gazed at him frantically shaking her head. 

“Are you sure?” He asked lifting his hand from her throat and ghosting it down her chest, along her ribs and into the dip of her waist.

“I don't like it.” She said firmly. 

Barty slowly bent down until his forehead was a breath away from hers. Eyes staring, “Your lips say those words Hermione, but the things I see in your head tell me differently.”

She immediately stiffened. Eyes slamming shut. But it was too late. Barty had seen what she now sought to keep hidden. The conflict. The confusion. The want. She desired him. Perhaps as much as he did her. But she was afraid. So very afraid. Every stuttered breath. Every tremble. They screamed her fear into his soul. And he liked it. He drank it in. Laying his head next to hers. Sharp nose nuzzling her neck. Lips whispering promises into her skin. Telling her what he would do to her. What he would allow her to do to him. He spoke of sweat-slicked skin, of wet kisses and clenching muscles. 

And she listened. A hot blush filling her cheeks. Body twitching with barely understood pleasure. 

“Don't.” She whispered, breath stirring the hair on his forehead. 

So he didn't. Instead settling more firmly against her body. Listening to her thumping heart. Saying the rest of the words in his head. Waiting for the moment that she pushed him away. Or asked him to leave. She did neither. But she did lift a pale hand slowly upwards. Hesitant fingers brushing his jaw before jumping away as if burned. 

Ah, but it was enough. That gentle touch. Unasked for, but given. It was enough. It was a start.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Hermione was disappointed with her first look at the Ministry. It was surprisingly normal for starters. Not that she'd been expecting a medieval torture chamber, resplendent with whips, chains, and cages. But the plain walls and airy halls were no different than what she remembered. Although, when she stopped looking and started feeling, she noticed the air was steeped with anxiety and fear. Beside her, Harry seemed oblivious to the atmosphere. Or he was at least pretending to be. Thinking it was probably the safest option, Hermione followed suit. 

In ten minutes time, she was due to meet with Minister Taybolt. He was in charge of the archives section. A place she figured would be safe for her to work and do a little snooping without drawing too much attention. Plus it had the added bonus of being somewhere she would actually choose to work. 

“Do you want me to meet you after your interview.” Harry dodged an irate looking wizard as he spoke to Hermione. 

“No. I've arranged to meet Luna.” She adjusted the line of her skirt nervously. “We're meeting to talk about her wedding.”

Harry huffed out a breath, “Well. I bet that'll be interesting.” He switched left, leading her down into the bowels of the Ministry. 

There were fewer people about, for which Hermione was grateful. She was tired of the looks her presence was causing. They weren't obvious about it, but every time she glanced up she would catch their eyes watching her. Eyes that would quickly drop the moment they realized she was looking. 

The corridor narrowed and got darker. Their footsteps were the only sound, echoing off the marble walls and rebounding back into her ears. Hermione twitched her skirt again, then reached up to pat her hair. 

“Stop fidgeting. You'll be fine.” 

“But what if they don't want me to work here?” She asked. Voicing her biggest concern. She needed this job. If whatever plan they cobbled together had any chance of working then she needed to work in the Ministry. 

Harry bumped his shoulder into hers, “Of course they'll want you. You're Hermione Granger. And when I spoke to Minister's McLaggen and Zeagburg they seemed interested in having you work here.” 

“Really?” She asked feeling slightly sick. “Zeagburg? I don't know that name.” 

“He's the wizard who came across from Europe to sort out the Death Eaters,” Harry said.

Hermione frowned, “And he's in charge?” 

“No. He's more of a consultant. Tramwell runs things, but you won't meet him. McLaggens in charge of hiring and firing and I got the impression that if Taybolt wants you, then 

McLaggen will give the green light.” Harry pushed open a thick wooden door, holding it open for Hermione to step through. “You want me to come down with you?” 

“No. I'll be fine.” She stood on the top step, shifting nervously from foot to foot, “Wish me luck.” 

Harry ruffled a hand through his hair, “I keep telling you that you don't need it.” 

A grateful smile tugged at her lips, “thanks, Harry.” She left him at the top of the stairs. The air was musty. A smell that transported Hermione back to book shops and the forgotten sections of Libraries. It was oddly comforting and helped to ease her frazzled nerves. Pulling in a breath of cool air she made her way down the uneven steps, having to use a hand on the wall to steady herself. 

At the bottom, she found herself in a large rectangular area. The air above was filled with dim white globes. They spotlit the area at intervals, seeming to highlight the jumbled mess. The room itself was filled with tables. Placed so closely together that she would have to turn sideways to get passed them. Each of the wooden surfaces was cluttered with various objects. Some spilling over and onto the floor. She saw thick leather tomes, yellowed parchments, dusty bottles, and an assortment of boxes. Her fingers itched with the need to touch and tidy. Implement some kind of order amongst the chaos. 

She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Quick, furtive. Spinning towards it, she spotted a man. Thin, with frizzy tufts of white hair. He was wearing hideous mustard coloured robes that were too small. As she watched he bent down to pick up a copper bowl, dented and badly misshaped.

“Hello?” Hermione moved further into the room, “My name's Hermione Granger, I'm to meet with Minister Taybolt.”

The wizard looked up in surprise, “Oh. Yes, yes. You aren't supposed to be here until eleven.” 

“It is eleven.” She said.

“Is it indeed?” He put down the bowl and waved her over, “Come then, tell me why I should let you invade my space.”

Hermione inched her way through the maze of tables, “Well, it looks like you could use a hand putting everything in order,” she pointed to the overfilled tables, “I've always been very good at organizing and I'm absolutely fascinated by-” 

“Everything is in order. There isn't one item in this place that I don't know the location of.” Taybolt smiled fondly at the mass of papers that covered the table beside him. “Are you any good at tea?” 

“Umm. Tea?” She'd finally made it to the middle of the room but paused when he fixed her with a shrewd look. 

“Yes. Tea.” Pale blue eyes regarded her from beneath enormous white eyebrows, “I like it freshly brewed and made by hand.” 

Hermione blinked, “I can make tea,” she nibbled her lip, “but I was hoping to help you with the archives.” 

“Were you?” He smiled gently, “Perhaps one day... when you've mastered my tea.” 

The smile she offered him felt stiff. Like it didn't quite fit her face. “Of course.” She said. 

Disappointment filled her chest before she pushed it away. This wasn't supposed to be about her. It was supposed to be about freeing the Death Eaters. Finding out why the Ministry were controlling everything and everyone so carefully. When she looked back at Taybolt he was scratching his ear and looking at a random scrap of paper. A few long seconds passed in which Hermione stood awkwardly with her hands held waist high, terrified that she'd knock something over. When the seconds turned into minutes she finally spoke. 

“Is the interview over?” 

Taybolt jumped as if startled, “Oh! Are you still here?” His enormous eyebrows dipped down over his eyes, “Come back tomorrow at eight. I'll give you a trial.” 

Hermione felt her mouth drop open in outrage. A trail? For making tea? She mashed her teeth together. She couldn't ever recall being so insulted in her life. Giving Taybolt a sharp nod, she made her slow way back through the maze of tables. Her steps echoed sharply off the walls as she made her way back up the stairs. She could have swore she heard Taybolt chuckling. 

The way back through the Ministry was taken at a much slower pace. Hermione studying the layout and taking note of how many doors now had wards. Without Harry to distract her she could feel how very different the Ministry was. There was a kind of tenseness to the air. A paranoia in the way everyone would look around in a furtive way. As if checking to see if they were being watched. Hermione didn't need to look around to know she was being watched. She'd felt it the moment she'd stepped through the doors. A feather light touch that made the hair on the back of her neck rise. 

Several times she'd noticed a witch or wizard move towards her. Almost as if they wanted to approach her and talk, but at the last second changed their mind. The most alarming thing for Hermione was the influx of new faces. She barely recognised anyone. All of the old Ministry staff seemed to have been reassigned or replaced altogether. Only this morning Harry had told her that Kingsley had been made the liaison to American Ministry and that he was very rarely in the country anymore.

“Hermione!” 

Her heart sank into her shoes. Cormac McLaggen. Pasting on a fake smile she spun to face him. 

“Cormac! How nice to see you.” She held the smile until he stood beside her. Too close and with a familiarity that made her want to vomit. 

“Isn't it?” He placed his arm around her waist, “I've been waiting to hear from you.” 

Hermione huffed out a breath, “I know, I'm sorry. You won't believe how busy I've been.” 

Cormac gave her a toothy grin, “but now that you're working here, we'll see each other every day.” His thumb began to caress her hip in a slow up, down motion. 

“Well. I haven't actually been given the job yet,” She swung to the side and away from his arm, “Minister Taybolt's giving me a trial starting tomorrow.” 

“Fuck that.” McLaggen gave her a wink, “I'll speak to my father. You'll have the job.” 

“Really?” Hermione let her eyes widen, “That's so nice of you.” 

Cormac's tongue swept across his bottom lip, “You can repay me by coming to my party this weekend. We'll hold it in your honour. A celebration of your new job.”

“Oh, you don't have to do that.” She took a step away from him, stopping when his fingers circled her wrist.

“I insist.” Cormac waited for her to nod before continuing, “and you have to promise to meet me for lunch tomorrow.” 

She didn't want to agree. She wanted to fling off his hand and disappear. But she knew that wasn't an option. Not now. “Okay.” She finally answered. 

“Great!” His hand tugged her wrist, pulling her towards him, “until tomorrow.” He whispered into her ear. 

She shuddered at the feel of his damp breath touching her skin, “Yes, tomorrow.” Pulling away Hermione was finally able to extract herself from his hand. 

“Bye then,” She backed away and towards the Floo network, more than aware of the looks she was getting. No doubt within seconds of her leaving, rumours of her flirting with Cormac would begin to circulate. She'd be accused of sleeping her way into the job. Pushing down the bitterness that thought caused, Hermione ducked her head and wandered down the centre of the vast hall. She deliberately chose a fireplace at the farthest point. She took a handful of gritty powder and called out Luna's address before stepping through. The blonde was sitting on the floor weaving bits of twigs and flowers into a circle.

“Hello Hermione,” Luna patted the space beside her, “do you want to help me?” 

Hermione nodded and sat down, “What are we doing?” She pulled some twigs onto her lap and began to weave them into a loose circle. 

“They're for the wedding.” Luna held one up and peeked at Hermione through the middle, “I'm going to put them in the center of table and put candles inside. They'll be the perfect place for the fairies to hide in.” The blonde witch began to thread a tiny blue flower into the circle, “How did your interview go?”

“He wants me to make tea.” Hermione snapped. 

Luna cocked her head, “well, I suppose you have to start somewhere.”

“Yes. But tea?” 

“I'm sure you'll be very good at it,” Luna smiled gently. 

Hermione grimaced, “Thanks.” 

For a while they sat side by side, quietly threading flowers and knotting twigs. The air smelt of crushed grass and lavender. Sunlight streamed through the small windows, illuminating dust motes. It was oddly peaceful and Hermione honestly couldn't think of a better place to be. 

“Neville and I spoke about how we can ensure the Death Eaters will be prevented from harming us,” Luna said. 

Hermione dropped her hands into her lap, “How?” 

“A contract signed with blood.” Luna cocked her head to the side, “we have it say that they can't hurt anyone. Or we could stipulate certain names specific to each Death Eater.”

“They'll never agree to that.” She said. 

The blonde smiled. An evil little smirk that suited her surprisingly well. “They will if you tell them the only way you'll undo their collars is if they sign.”

“How very Slytherin of you,” Hermione grinned, thinking through what kind of contract they'd have to make. “We'd have to be careful. We wouldn't be able to invoke the contract until they were free.”

“Why not before?” Luna said as she began to plait flowers into her long blonde locks. 

“The flare of magic as the contract is sealed might alert the Ministry.” She tapped her lip as she tried to puzzle out if there was a way they could mask the contract, “I'm meeting with Cormac for lunch tomorrow, I'll talk him into giving me a tour. I want to take a peek at what the collars are bound to.”

“Have you examined a collar yet?”

“No.” 

“Oh.” Luna said, “It would be helpful if you did.” 

Hermione dropped her head into her hands, “I know.” 

“Is Barty being difficult?” 

“I don't know what Barty's being.” She said. 

Luna twisted her head to face her, pale blue eyes seeming to look through her, “You look troubled. Has he done something?” 

“No.” She winced as soon as the word left her mouth, “Yes.” 

“What?” 

Hermione nibbled her lip, unsure about if she should tell Luna anything. “We kissed.” At luna's rasied brow, she rushed on, “well, not really. I mean we did, but it was more of getting him to trust me kiss.”

“Did you like it?” 

The wild-haired witch blinked. Had she? “It was scary, Luna.”

“You didn't answer.” The blonde tipped her head, flower weaved hair flowing over her shoulder, “It's okay if you did.”

Was it okay? They were talking about Barty. A Death Eater, who in turns, terrified and thrilled her. Was it really okay to think about him and blush? Or imagine what it would be like to kiss him again? To crave his touches and wonder if he would be gentle or cruel? 

“He makes me feel things.” A laugh bubbled out of her mouth, “Which is completely mad because quite frankly, he's insane.” She tried folding her lips against the onslaught of words she could feel climbing up her throat, “but when he touches me, it's like everything inside goes quiet, and instead of thinking about a thousand different things, or worrying about what could and will go wrong, I can breathe. I can feel.” 

When she dared look at Luna, the witch was frowning at the space in front of her, “I imagine that must be very freeing. 

“Yes. It is.” 

“Then you should do what feels right.” Luna declared. 

As if it were that easy. Hermione shook her head. Shoving the feelings that stirred inside her when she thought of Barty to the back of her mind. It could never happen. She wouldn't let it. 

“I should go.” She leant across to give Luna a hug. “Can I give you and Neville the job of wording the contract?” 

“Of course.” 

“Thanks, Luna.” Climbing to her feet she wandered over to the Floo, “I'll see you soon.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

When Hermione appeared in the Burrow, the only person there to greet her was George. He was sitting in the chair looking decidedly rumpled and bad tempered. He'd only been allowed home yesterday and was still sporting red blisters the size of a thumbprint on his neck and arms. Molly had forbidden him from leaving the house, so he was confined to wandering the Burrow's claustrophobic rooms. Every sentence he uttered was a complaint. 

“Hey George. Are you okay?” Hermione asked, taking a seat next to him and tugging off her smart, but sensible heels. 

The red-head threw her a sour look. “I'm bored.” 

“But at least you're bored at home.” 

He huffed out a breath. “Like that's any better.” 

Hermione cocked her brow. “You preferred the hospital?”

“I wouldn't go that far,” George said, “at least here, Mum isn't hovering over me every other second.” 

“Where is she anyway?” She tucked her knees beneath her and twisted to the side to face him. 

“Out pestering Bill and Fluer.” His head thumped back onto the lumpy sofa. Blue eyes gazing at the faded ceiling with disinterest. “How did the interview go?” 

Hermione felt the humour seep out of her. “Minister Taybolt wants me to make his tea.”

“Why doesn't he just get the elves to make it like everyone else?” 

“Apparently, he likes it-” Her eyes widened as she shot upright. 

“Granger? You okay?”

She looked to the side, panic stealing the breath from her lungs. “Yeah. I... umm... forgot to look for flowers. For Luna's wedding.”

George saw through the lie as clearly as if it were made of glass. “Yeah. Whatever.”

Hermione winced, “George-”

“I don't want to know.” He gave her a cool look. “Just remember what I said.” 

An awful silence fell between them, spiky edged and thick enough to choke on. Hermione frantically tried to think of a way to make things okay again. To make the awful tension disappear. But she couldn't think of a single thing to say to him. Not one. The seconds passed into minutes and then finally George sighed. 

“Just go, Granger.”

A kind of numbness stole over her. She had the most horrible feeling that their friendship had just snapped in two. A clean break she wasn't sure could ever be fixed. Blinking her eyes against the burn of impending tears, Hermione pushed to her feet.

“I'm-” 

“Don't.” George forced out through clenched teeth, “I don't want to fucking here it.” The glare he gave her could have frozen ice. “Go.” 

Hermione backed away, feet scraping the shabby rug. She managed, barely, to turn her back before the first tear spilled free. She was out of the door when the next one joined it to make a damp spot on her jacket. As soon as she was free of the Burrow, she wiped the trickle of wetness from her cheek. A rough move that left a streak of heat behind, cooled instantly by the stiff breeze. Her stomach churned anxiously. Had she just met the George that everyone spoke of? The cold, hard George that bathed in bitterness over the death of Fred? She must have, because the George that she remembered would never have spoken to her in that way. Swore at her. Her George would have been the first in line to help her free the Death Eaters with a gleeful smile stretching his lips. Blue eyes dancing with mischief. But her George still had Fred attached to his hip. Ready and willing to finish his sentences and wade into whatever trouble they could find. 

This George didn't. 

Yet, it hurt that he didn't trust her to keep the Weasley's out of danger. She'd promised that she would, given him her word and meant it. But, he didn't believe her. The cold wind battered against her, seeping through her clothes and turning her skin into ice. It tore at her hair, pulling the curls free of the careful bun she'd forced the impossible strands into. The uneven ground leached the warmth from her bare feet, pulling it down her legs and into the dirt. She forced in a deep breath, held it for a moment, before releasing it to the wind. Her tear coated gaze fell on the ramshackle shed Barty called home. She sucked in her bottom lip, nibbling on the tattered skin. Wondering if she dare approach him. Knowing that she had no choice.

Hermione made her slow way towards the shed. Wincing as sharp stones bit into the soles of her feet. She paused at the door, hesitating before lifting her hand to knock on the flimsy wood. A long second passed. The wind cutting into her back like a knife. She was about to knock again when the door suddenly swung open. Barty was standing on the threshold, his ominous presence filling the frame. His dark eyes looked down on her with an unreadable expression, with sharp features set in cruel lines. 

“May I come in?” Her gaze dropped to his chest, focusing on the faded black fabric. 

Silence met her question. He was mad. She could practically feel his anger beating against her skin, a relentless tapping that set her teeth on edge. It was her fault, this temper. She shouldn't have avoided him. She had the horrible feeling that by doing so, she had hurt him. But ever since the night he'd crawled into her bed, whispering filthy promises into her ear, she'd made sure never to be in the same room as him. Even going so far as to ward her bedroom door against his intrusions. He'd scared her. No. That wasn't true. Hermione had scared herself. 

That touch to his jaw. Such a small thing. A mere brush of fingertips against stubble roughened skin. Yet, it had changed everything. The real danger was that she'd wanted more. She'd wanted it all. Which was utterly insane and the reason that she'd panicked. Shutting him out. Hiding. She didn't want to hide anymore. Clenching her hands into two white fists, she slowly let her eyes lift to his. Letting him inside her head. Letting him see what she could never say. 

Barty's impassive face stared at her, empty eyes sinking into her soul. Cutting and shredding as cleanly as a surgeon. The silence was never ending. Fear pooled in her chest, constricting her breathing and leaving her dizzy. The wind tore at her hair, whipping it against her cheeks with vicious force. Her feet felt like blocks of ice. Finally, Barty stepped back, disappearing into the shadows of the shed. He left the door open. For an endless moment Hermione stood frozen on the threshold, unable to step forward. Terrified of what might happen with no one around to keep them in check. But then she gathered the tattered strands of her courage together and stepped inside. 

The door slammed shut behind her, plunging them into sudden darkness. Her breath rushed out, fingers inching to her hidden wand. Then she heard a murmured word, followed by the sharp hiss of a candle bursting into flame. Warm yellow light punched through the darkness. Her eyes instantly flew to Barty. He was sitting on the mattress, back held up by the wall, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee, his arm propped casually on top.

“Well?” His voice cut through her. 

Hermione shuffled her feet, eyes skipping about the room for a place to sit. There wasn't one. “I think I know how to force the Ministry into freeing the Death Eaters, and splitting the magical world in two.” 

A dark brow crept up his forehead. “Go on.” 

“I was at the Ministry today for a job interview.” She held her hand out to the side. “You are now looking at Minister Taybolt's new tea girl.”

Barty's thin lips curled derisively, “Such responsibility.” 

Hermione huffed out a bitter laugh. “It doesn't matter. Anyway, I was telling George and he said something about Taybolt getting the elves to do it like everyone else. It seems like most of the Ministry staff get food and drink from them, at work and home.” Her eyes met Barty's with ill concealed excitement.

She watched as his eyes lost focus as he thought about what she'd said. “You want to use the elves to drug them?” 

She shook her head, “Not drug. Poison.”

A delighted smile curved Barty's lips. “Ah.”

“We wouldn't actually kill them. We'd have the antidote ready and waiting.” She pushed her wild hair out of her face impatiently. Hands pausing at the intent look Barty was giving  
her. His dark eyes paralysed her. 

She dropped her arms, folding them across her waist so he couldn't see her hands tremble. “So... umm, if they want the antidote, then they'll have to agree to our terms.”

The Death Eater hummed, “It would be preferable if the poison had a delayed response, and the antidote wasn't readily available or easily made.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, head churning with plans, “I bet Neville would know of something.” She took a deep breath of musty air. “And the delay would give us time to ensure the Ministry couldn't use the Death Eaters against us before we have the chance to make them sign a contract.” 

“Indeed.” His voice was soft but filled with ice. 

“I... that is, could I take a look at your collar?” She pulled her lip between her teeth, chewing on the tender flesh as she waited for his answer. 

His sharp features grew still. “If you must.” 

Hermione didn't move. She had his permission and she knew that she needed to examine the collar. She'd needed to examine it for a while. Yet, her feet wouldn't move. They remained frozen in place and stubbornly still. When she looked down at them in silent accusation, they seemed to shrink away from her, toes flexing and digging into the hard ground. 

“Is there a problem?” His mocking tone plucked on her nerves.

“No!” The word jumped out of her throat. “I'm just thinking.”

A vindictive smile curled Barty's lips, cruel and sharp enough to cut. In the depths of his eyes, challenge lay thick and goading. Daring her to approach him. Touch him. Hermione shivered. Unsure of his strange mood, wondering just how unhinged her actions had made him. Nervous tension flooded her body as she stepped towards him. Eyes fixed on the thick band of iron that circled his neck. He was watching her. She could feel his stare like a living thing, probing her skin with searing intent. 

Trying to ignore his oppressive presence, Hermione walked to his side before stepping onto the lumpy mattress. It was paper thin and she could feel the bumps of the uneven ground beneath. Grimacing, she dropped to her knees. She was close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. Her hands fluttered uncertainly in front of her, before finally coming to rest on her lap. Nibbling her lip, she lifted her eyes to the collar. She took in the pitted surface and dull grey colour. Frowning, she leaned closer noticing tiny scratches littering the metal at seemingly random intervals. 

Her fingers rose of their own accord to trace the patterns. “Are these runes?” 

Barty shrugged. “I've no idea.” He tipped his head back against the wall, displaying the column of his throat. “Come closer and see,” he invited. 

Hermione's eyes darted up to his face, not trusting his bland voice or casual invite. His eyes were closed and the sharp planes of his face were wiped clean of emotion. Keeping her gaze fixed on him, she slowly crept closer, stopping when her breath touched his skin. She remained like that for an endless moment, waiting for him to snap forward and spit out the accusations she knew were hovering on the tip of his tongue. When still he didn't move, she lowered her eyes following the pattern her finger made. Only her eyes kept getting distracted by the raw skin that framed the collar. Her fingertips itched with the need to soothe the irritated flesh. 

Blinking, she forced her gaze back to the scratches. “I think they are runes, but I don't recognise any of them,” she murmured. 

Barty remained in place. The only indication he'd heard was a slight tensing of his shoulders. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, utterly fascinated by the bob of his throat as he swallowed. A strange feeling encased her heart, anger and sadness entwined. For the first time, she looked at Barty and saw beyond the madness, the cruelty, the evil. Instead she saw vulnerability. Loneliness. Carefully hidden and never shown. Guilt at the way she'd been avoiding him filled her chest. Restricting her lungs until it was hard to breathe. Her eyes moved up to study the underside of his jaw. It was pale with the barest hint of stubble shadowing his skin. 

Closing her eyes, Hermione slowly pressed her lips to the place where jaw met neck, offering a silent apology. Barty turned to stone under her mouth. His hand crept up to hold the back of her head. Cool fingers scraped her scalp as he clenched, brutally fisting her hair, before yanking her back and away from him. Dark eyes regarded her with cool disdain. 

“I would suggest that you not start something you are unwilling to finish.” His voice was like a shard of ice digging into her heart.

She returned his stare unwaveringly. “And if I am? Willing to finish it?” 

“Then by all means. Continue.” He unclenched the hand from her hair. 

Hermione blinked. Sudden nerves making her quiver. “I...” Her brow rumpled, unsure of what he wanted from her. Of what she was wanted to give. “You're angry with me.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

She dropped her gaze to her tightly clasped hands. Not able to look at his mocking contempt any longer. Why did he always have to be so nasty? Why the hell did she care? A slim finger tucked under her chin, forcing her head up and back. Her eyes were coated with tears as she met his dispassionate stare. 

“I like your pain, Hermione.” He leaned towards her. Breath ghosting her cheek, “Shall we see if I like your pleasure as well?” 

Her stomach flipped back on itself. A squirmy sensation filling her chest as heat rushed into her cheeks. She had no idea what to say; so she said nothing. She merely stared in terror as he slowly closed the distance between them. His mouth hovered near, a slither of air separating them. And then: contact. Cool lips slid along hers, pushing hard as his hand came up to grasp the back of her neck. His cruel fingers held her in place. The kiss was a hard, punishing thing, stealing away any pleasure she might have felt. 

Anger rushed through her at his cold indifference. How dare he use such an intimate act to hurt her. For the briefest of seconds, Hermione considered pushing him away. Leaving him alone to drown in his own insanity. But then she remembered those fragile safe moments she felt when he watched her. Touched her. No one had ever made her feel like that before. It was addictive. She lifted her hands to his narrow shoulders, pulling him close as she opened her mouth to allow her tongue to swipe his lips. Forcing him to feel.  
Barty immediately stiffened, his body turning to marble beneath her hands. The cool fingers on the back of her neck tightened. A silent warning that she was playing with fire. Hermione didn't care. She continued to kiss him, nibbling frantically at his thin lips, using her tongue to tease away the pain. It was like kissing a statue. He neither moved nor encouraged. Simply sat, perfectly unaffected. 

A frustrated growl crawled up her throat. If only he would move. She pulled away from the kiss, glaring into his dark eyes. The hunger he couldn't quite hide was quickly replaced by fury at the triumph he spied in hers. Not shifting her gaze, Hermione slowly inched towards him, stopping when all she could see was his face, his eyes. She remained that way, frozen, waiting. 

A second passed. Then two. 

And then he was on her. Pushing her to the mattress, his mouth attacked hers with bruising intent. He forced her lips to open so he could slide his tongue inside and brush it against hers. He lingered to taste before sucking hard and drawing her own into his mouth. There was a moments hesitation as she felt the scrape of his teeth. But it was quickly forgotten as his fingers brushed the pulse in her neck. She could do nothing as he softened the kiss, only hold on and enjoy every blissful moment. His body pinned her in place. 

Sharp pelvic bones digging into her flesh. The world spun as she fought to breathe. Her heart thudding too fast, too hard. 

Barty broke away from her lips to press searing open mouthed kisses to the side of her neck. The sharp edge of his collar bit into her skin, leaving a line of ice. His hand touched her knee, fingers flexing before slipping up to trace a tingly path along the inside of her thigh. 

Hermione stilled, fear of the unknown tensing her muscles. She felt Barty smile against the skin of her neck. 

“Where's my brave little lion now?” He murmured.

“I...it's just that nobody has ever touched me there.” A hot blush stained her cheeks, deepening when Barty raised his head to look at her. 

“Then I'll be the first.” He spoke with a possessive edge that made her tremble.

Her breath rushed out when he slowly pushed up her skirt. Fingers drawing lines of fire along her thigh. He watched her the entire time. Eyes drinking in the play of emotions that danced across her face. She was shaking. Badly. Her hands clenched the mattress so tightly that her knuckles turned pure white. Each breath she took seemed to echo in her ears. 

She closed her eyes, hiding behind shuttered lids, unable to stand the way his gaze delved into her. 

She whimpered when his fingers reached the damp gusset of her knickers. She held her breath when he paused before pressing hard with the pads of his fingers. She gasped, arching her back. The sudden pleasure so intense that it felt like pain. And he hadn't even touched her yet. Not properly. Her hips began to shift restlessly, trying to alleviate the hot pulsing sensation that filled her pelvis. Trying to make him move, stroke. Only he wouldn't. He kept his fingers pressed against her. Hard, but unmoving. 

Her eyes fluttered open, seeking out his dark stare. He was looking at her with eyes that held the promise of pain. A hateful smile curved his lips. Hermione unclenched a white fist from the mattress, slowly lifting it to touch the sharp blade of his cheek. 

“Please don't hurt me.” She whispered.

Barty sneered. “I could make you like it.” 

Hermione shook her head. Fear stealing away the pleasure. Her hand dropped from his cheek, falling to her rumpled skirt and beginning to push it down. She moved it an inch before Barty leaned down, pressing his lips to hers in a soft kiss. The earlier apology she'd offered had been given back. The fingers between her legs moved to slip beneath the elastic of her knickers, sliding through drenched folds. Finally touching her. Hermione sighed, the sound swallowed by Barty's mouth. 

His thumb began to circle her clit. Firm, even pressure that made everything inside her pulse. His narrow fingers hovered at her entrance. Teasingly close. The earlier pleasure returned, more intense this time. Her hips were undulating with a mind of their own, and she didn't care how wanton she looked. How undone. She gasped, struggling to breathe passed his tongue. She could feel the orgasm building. Unfurling in her pelvis with a twitchy, fluttery sensation. Two fingers slid into her. She was so slick that they just slid in, filling and stretching her. She ripped her mouth away from Barty, gasping. Almost- 

“Hermione?” Molly's shrill voice called from the yard. “Are you out here?” 

She froze, pleasure pinging through her. Barty hissed in her ear. 

“I want your help with the dinner.” Molly continued, sounding closer. “Hermione?!” 

The witch struggled free of Barty, pulling down her skirt and rushing to the door on wobbly legs. Breathless, she pressed her eye to a gap in the wood and saw the Weasley matriach striding towards the shed. The wind whipping her frizzy red hair around her furiously. Wide eyed, Hermione spun to face the reclining Death Eater. He looked completely at ease as he sucked his wet fingers into his mouth, one at a time. She almost fainted at the sight, skin flushing to ice as he thoroughly cleaned each digit. He smirked, eyes soaking up her panic. 

“Behind the door.” He whispered. 

Hermione tucked herself by the door, holding her breath when it was thrown open a second later. The wood hit her chest with a painful thud. 

“Have you seen Hermione?” Molly snapped out. 

Barty's face twitched at the question. “I've seen her,”

“Where?”  
Hermione stared at the battered wooden door, heart thudding inside her ribs with painful intensity. Her entire lower half tingled with lingering pleasure. The denied orgasm felt like a knot of tension she couldn't shift.

“By the pond.” Barty said. Managing to mangle the truth. After all, Molly hadn't asked when he'd seen Hermione, so he wasn't forced to tell her that the red faced witch was hiding behind the door. 

At his words she sagged against the rotten wood, feeling it give beneath her weight. She was grateful that Molly hadn't been more specific with her questioning. As soon as the door closed and Molly's footsteps faded away, Hermione shuffled to the centre of the room. Barty was watching her with amusement, smirking eyes taking in her fidgeting discomfort. 

“Well... I should go.” She smoothed down the line of her skirt with a trembling hand. “Before Molly comes back,” She added.

Barty grunted, but didn't respond, his face turning cold as the barriers once again slammed shut between them. 

Hermione nodded her head uncertainly, wincing at the awkward tension that now surrounded them. Twisting away she walked to the door, opening it an inch to peek outside. When she saw the yard was deserted, she slipped outside. Not once looking back. Not daring to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness! Hermione is certainly a lucky, lucky girl :) And could Molly have worse timing?
> 
> So, first I want to apologize for the delay in posting. I have a few chapters in hand now so you'll start to get regular updates. Thank you so much to everyone who has left a comment, I read them all with greedy eyes. I will also be putting some other stories on here over the next week. They're already on FF.net but I'll be transferring them to this site as well. If you're so inclined you can come follow me on tumblr (I don't go anywhere but in circles but I do release sneak peeks and one shots) user name jheeley. 
> 
> Lastly, I'm in the process of correcting some of the mistakes both my stories are littered with, if you spot any errors then please don't be afraid to point them out. I'm completely harmless and only bite on command ;)


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Draco was in the middle of a nightmare. It was the one that visited him every night without fail. He was running through the halls of Hogwarts, chased by an oppressive darkness. Every time he looked over his shoulder it would take the form of a large spindly figure. It had wiry arms that stretched towards him, seeking to pull him into a crushing embrace. Around him, the walls bleed tar-thick blood onto the frost coated floor. The only sounds he could hear were his own thudding heart and wheezing breaths. At the end of the corridor, a steel banded door appeared. It was twice his height and wide enough to let two carriages pass easily through. Yet, no matter how fast he forced his dream legs to move, the door never got any closer. Panic coated his skin like cloth, constricting his chest until all he could do was gasp in small mouthfuls of copper tainted air. 

Something touched his shoulder. A feather-light brush of fingertips against flesh. His heart exploded inside the cage of his ribs as terror clogged his throat closed. That had never happened before, not in all the years the dream had chased him through the night. 

“Malfoy!” 

Draco tossed his head against the pillow, trying to make sense of the confusion clouding his mind. 

“Malfoy!” 

Those dream fingers touched his shoulder again, this time with more force. Enough to wake him up to a dark room, and a darker shadow leaning over him. His hand instinctively thrust out, colliding with the shadow. It fell back, landing on the floor with a soft thump. 

“Ow!” 

Draco fumbled the wand from beneath his pillow, casting a hasty Lumos. The bright light forced the darkness into the corners. Scrunching his eyes against the sudden glare, he spotted Hermione Granger on the floor beside his bed. She was rubbing her hip and scowling up at him. 

“The fuck, Granger?” He said. 

She pushed to her feet. “I wanted to speak to you.” 

“It's the middle of the fucking night.” He twisted around so his feet touched the floor, trying to calm his racing heart. 

“I know that!” Wild curls framed her face. “It's important.”

Draco huffed, belatedly checking the room for Crouch. He didn't see the creepy freak anywhere in the shadows, but that didn't mean he wasn't here. The psycho had a way of hiding in plain sight, waiting until your back was turned and then sneaking forward to slip a knife between your ribs. 

“I didn't bring him,” Granger said.

His searching eyes darted back to her, taking in her rumpled skirt and creased shirt. For some absurd reason she wasn't wearing any shoes. His eyes tracked back up her body, noticing her fidgeting hands before settling on her face. She was nibbling her bottom lip and avoiding his gaze. If he didn't know any better he'd say that she was embarrassed. Over what, he had no idea but there was a definite tell tale blush staining her cheeks. As he watched, she pulled in a sharp breath before taking a step towards the bed and sitting down. 

He barely resisted the urge to move away from her as she shuffled into a more comfortable position. She was so near that he could smell the light floral perfume she'd used earlier in the day. It filled his nostrils, replacing the usual dank mustiness that Grimmauld Place exuded. He tightened the grip on his wand, determined to ignore the prejudice of old murmuring words of hatred into his ear. Telling him her blood was dirty, worthless, less than. Telling him to move. “Spit it out then.” 

“We're going to use the elves to poison the Ministry.” 

“Fuck.” Draco's eyebrows crawled up his forehead. “You're going to kill them?” 

Granger shook her head in mild disgust. “No. I'm not going to kill them. Why on earth would you think that?”

“The end result of poisoning is usually death,” he muttered, twirling the wand between his fingers as he absorbed her words. 

Granger huffed out an irritated breath. “Well not in this case. We're going to be offering them the antidote in exchange for giving us what we want.” 

“Blackmail?” His eyes darted from the tip of his wand towards her. “You're more Slytherin than you let on.”

“Oh, shut up.” She twisted more fully to face him. “I need your help fleshing it all out.”

Draco tipped his head back against the wall, eyes closing as he let what she'd said flow into his brain. It was actually a pretty decent idea, not that he'd ever tell her that. Granger's atrocious hair already made her head big enough; she didn't need his words of praise to make it swell any further. 

“What poison?” he murmured. 

“I don't know. I need to speak to Neville, but Barty suggested something with a delayed response.” 

A shudder of almost fear travelled through him at the sound of the insane Death Eater's name. “How will you get the elves to help?” 

“I don't know that either,” she said.

“Fuck, Granger, you don't know much do you?” 

He felt her shift beside him. “That's why I'm bloody well here!”

Smirking, he opened his eyes to regard the agitated witch. “So, you're admitting that I'm smarter than you?”

“Oh for-” Granger pushed to her feet. “If you don't have anything sensible to contribute then I'm leaving.” 

“Okay, okay.” Draco quickly patted the mattress beside him. “Sit.” 

Keeping his face carefully blank, he stared impassively as she dithered for a moment before finally retaking her seat. Draco let out the breath he'd been holding. He'd never admit it but it felt good having someone talk and look at him like he was a person instead of a piece of shit scraped off their shoe. It didn't even matter that it was Granger doing the talking. 

“So we need an elf willing to lace the food?” he said. 

“Yes. But before all that happens I want the Death Eaters to sign a contract.” Granger spoke in her usual prudish tones. 

Draco raised a pale brow. “Saying?” 

“That you'll never hurt anyone again. That you'll stick to your own areas. That you'll never teach any of your prejudices to your children.” More of her hair sprung free as she gestured wildly with each condition. “And of course, your children will attend Hogwarts and mix freely with other witches and wizards, regardless of their blood status. You'll also-”

“And the penalty for not adhering to your list?” he interrupted, allowing a smirk to slip free at her narrow eyed glare. 

“Loss of magic and expulsion from the magical community.” Granger snapped.

Draco pursed his lips in speculation. “And this penalty works both ways?” 

For a second she looked truly confused, her head tilted at a comical angle. He could practically see the gears in her head shifting as she thought about what he'd said. It wouldn't take her long to come up with an answer. It never did. Whilst he waited for her to think up a response, Draco allowed his eyes to move over the familiar features of his bedroom. He didn't have much. A lumpy bed that creaked every time he turned over, a wardrobe that looked ready to topple at any second, and a bedside table that reeked of fire whiskey. The last made his head ache on a regular basis and he was terrified of placing a candle anywhere near it, lest he burned in his bed. All of those he could just about cope with. But not the air. The dank, spore-infested air that seeped into his lungs and coated his skin. No matter how much he cleaned or threw open the doors and windows, it still remained. Stubbornly sticking to the very foundations of Grimmauld Place. He had no idea how Potter could stand it.

“Malfoy?” Granger's soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. 

“What?”

“I said, yes. It will have to work both ways. It wouldn't be fair otherwise.” 

Draco felt his eyebrows crawl up his forehead. He often forgot how... good, Granger was. “You think the Ministry would be willing to sign?” 

She immediately shook her head. “Willing? No. But if they have no choice? Maybe. Will the Death Eaters sign?”

“Not with those conditions.” He narrowed his eyes on a patch of peeling wallpaper. “Perhaps if you amended them slightly.”

“How?” 

Draco flicked the edged of his blanket. “Well, instead of, you'll never hurt anyone again, you could say, you can never hurt anyone unless they attack you. We'd be more willing to sign knowing we could defend ourselves should we need to.”

Granger slowly nodded her head. “Okay. I see what you're saying. Get the conditions we want, but word it so that everyone still feels in control.”

“Exactly.” 

“The Death Eaters will need to have signed before the collars are undone.” She tapped her fingers against the edge of the bed. 

“You do know that the Ministry is going to use us to track you down and retrieve the antidote.” He watched her grimace. “They aren't just going to hand us over and sign whatever contract you put in front of them.”

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I know. I had thought that blackmailing them into releasing you would be enough, but I think I'll have to break the magic leashing your magic myself. I can't take the risk of them using you against me before they've agreed to any terms.”

“Which is why you want us to sign before you undo the collar.” At her nod he continued. “So why bother poisoning them at all? You'd have a newly freed Death Eater army, ready and willing to make them suffer.” 

“Malfoy, this is supposed to be about healing the magical world, not making it worse! And besides, the Death Eaters couldn't make them suffer because they'll have signed the bloody contract!” She hissed in calming breath. “And we'll need to poison them so they'll agree to the rest of it. A safe place for you to live. Neutral territories. The promise that they won't start a war or come after you.” Her hands danced about as she spoke. “But mostly, a safer world for the next generation.”

“Fuck, Granger. You don't want much do you?”

She huffed out a laugh. “I want rid of this headache.” 

Draco smirked. But it was a half hearted expression at best. He had his own headache that refused to shift anywhere but to another part of his head. 

“So, do you know of an elf that might help?” Granger said. 

“I do.” 

“Who?” She leaned forward, bringing a new wave of perfume his way. 

A slow smile curled up the corners of his mouth. “Kreacher.” 

“What?!” Her eyes darted around the room. “Is he still here?” 

“Not in the house. Potter threw him out years ago.” He waved his hand towards the tiny dirt covered window above his bed. “He skulks about outside. The damn thing refuses to leave.”

“Oh. That's so sad.” Her eyes softened with the threat of impending tears. “Do you think he'll help?” 

Draco sneered at the peeling wallpaper. “He will if I tell him he'll get his job back serving house Black.”

“But that's a lie.”

“He won't fucking know it!” He pulled in a deep breath, suddenly beyond tired, beyond anything but crushing numbness. “He'll be fine. I'm sure you can convince Potter to let the little shit back into the fold when we're done.”

“I'm not sure Harry will ever speak to me again when all this is finished,” Granger whispered with such despair that he actually felt it seep into the air.

Draco snorted, “I'm failing to see the problem with that.”

“Oh shut up.” Her brown eyes darkened in annoyance. “Do you think it will work? Not just Kreacher, but all of it.”

“No.” Draco looked her dead in the eye as he answered. 

“Why not?” she asked, looking slightly crestfallen.

“It'll never work, because of you, Granger.” He drawled in a perfect imitation of his father. 

He saw the moment she chose to see insult instead of the truth in his words. Her back snapped straight and her eyes flashed indignantly. When her mouth opened, no doubt to spit out a vast list of why she was right and everyone else was wrong, Draco raised his hand. “Everyone knows you Granger.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So?” 

“So, do you really expect people to believe that you'll just let them die if they don't do what you ask?”   
Malfoy watched her hesitate. “I-”

“Oh, come on Granger. Who is seriously going to think that you'll let Potter and the Weasley's die?” He twisted his lips into a sneer. “Or had you forgotten that they work at the Ministry too?” 

“No! I... No.” Her voice trailed into nothing. 

For a while they both sat in silence, contemplating what might have been. Anger began to build in the pit of his stomach, mingling with the desperation and fear that was already there. He wouldn't survive another year of this, and neither would his parents or Pansy. They'd all been broken and left to fester in the dark like a forgotten toy. Brought out to play with and then returned even more broken than before. It wasn't himself that he most thought of, he knew he had it pretty good with Potter. But it was his parents and Pansy that he worried for most. The rumours he'd heard snatches of wrapped steel thread around his heart that tightened with every passing day. 

He switched his attention back to Granger. She was staring gloomily at the stained floorboards. Every line of her body screaming disappointment. Draco narrowed his eyes, frantically thinking of a way to save the plan. Of a way that would make them take them seriously. 

“The way I see it you have two options.” He smirked when her eyes darted back to him. “You give the antidote to someone who will quite happily let everyone die unless the terms are met. Or you show them how serious you are by letting one of them die.” 

The way her eyes widened, he knew his last suggestion was out, which left them with the first. But who could they ask? It would have to be someone reasonably neutral and not easily swayed or frightened. “Leave it with me Granger. I'll see if I can think of anyone. Unless you're willing to think about the second option?”

“No. Absolutely not.” She shook her head emphatically. 

Not that he was surprised, but he had to ask. Just to be sure. “Well, then, speak to Longbottom and get the poison started. Get Crouch to check through the contract. He'll... what?” He narrowed his eyes at her sudden discomfort. “Granger?” 

“It's nothing,” she muttered, fidgeting with the edge of her skirt and avoiding his gaze.

Draco forced out a tense breath. “Is that why you can't look at me?”

“I can look at you.” She proved it by staring at the bridge of his nose. 

The headache that never really left intensified. “Granger, if-” 

“It's fine. I'll have him look at it.” 

He sighed. “Whatever.” There wasn't enough money in the world to entice him to get involved in whatever game Crouch was playing. If he wanted to mess with Granger's head then good luck to him. “Your job is to figure out how to free us from these fucking collars.”

“Is that all?” Her sarcasm was so thick he could have spread it on his toast. 

“Yeah. That's all Granger.” He huffed out, but quickly grabbed her wrist when she was about to get up. “How's Pansy?” 

Her eyes softened. “Good, I think. When she heard you'd taken a vow, she wanted to take one as well. I'll be seeing her in a few days.” Her nose puckered up. “Cormac's throwing a party, which is sure to be ghastly.”

“What did she say? Tell me everything.” 

“She didn't say much to be honest. It's not like we have time to chat or anything, but I'll try to get her alone at the party.” 

He let go of her wrist, sensing an end to the conversation. The usual sneer settled on his face, used so often it was like his default expression. “Well. Get out then.”

“Your manners are horrendous, Malfoy,” Granger spoke without any real heat. Her voice had more of a tired weariness that he was intimately familiar with. 

When she reached the door, he almost called her back. He was terrified of being alone with only his bitter thoughts for company. Pride kept his lips tightly clenched but he couldn't quite keep the fear from reaching his eyes. Granger looked back, perhaps to say goodnight, but froze at the needy look his treacherous eyes displayed. 

She took a step towards him and he quickly sought out the peeling wallpaper. “Fuck off, Granger.” 

It was the count of ten before she did as he'd asked and left. Ten more before he extinguished his wand and sat quietly in the dark waiting for sleep to claim him.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen 

Barty watched impassively as Hermione got ready for her first day of work. She was nervous. He could tell by the way she kept twitching her clothes and reaching up to pat her hair, checking to see if the wild curls he liked to fist were held primly in place. Every now and then her gaze would search his out, dropping the instant their eyes met to the enormous breakfast Molly had set out for her. They hadn't spoken since he'd had his fingers up her cunt. It was fine by him. His mood was spiralling into a dark place. He could feel it, sucking him down even as the madness rose up around him. And for some unfathomable reason, he didn't want her to see his struggle to tame the mounting rage. 

He heard movement from the table, the clatter of cutlery, the scrape of a chair, Molly's incessant chatter. 

“I'll have a nice warm stew waiting for you when you get home,” the Weasley matriarch said. 

“I might be a bit late actually. I want to visit Neville and Luna.” Hermione's soft voice answered. 

Barty felt a frisson of jealousy rise up his spine. He hated it when she went off without him and spent time with others. She was his, even if she didn't realize it yet. Pulling his gaze from the empty air in front of him, he watched as she gathered her things and followed Arthur Weasley to the Floo. Towards him. He flicked out his tongue, tapping the side of his mouth, seeking to silence the voices that were increasing in volume with each passing day. Soon they would be the only sound that filled his ears. 

He kept his gaze fixed on the curve of her neck, wanting nothing more than to bury his face there and breathe in her skin. Perhaps mark it the tiniest amount and feel the thudding pulse beneath his thumbs as he held her life in his hands. Not to hurt her, he could never do that now; she belonged to him. But to know he could if he wanted to, would flood his soul with the control he needed to force the voices back down and into the abyss.

As she stood by the Floo, waiting for Arthur to step through, Barty leant towards her. He inhaled her clean scent, allowing the heat of her to sink into his bones. 

“I can still taste you, little bird,” he murmured. 

Blood rushed into her cheeks as she sent him a silent glare. “Don't-”

“You're going to be late,” he interrupted. 

Hermione pinched her lips together, grabbed a handful of Floo powder and disappeared into the green flames a second later. Barty felt a vicious sense of satisfaction that he'd upset her. Ruined her day before it had even begun. His descent into madness was her fault after all. The constant talk of her new job at the Ministry were stirring up his own memories of being there. That fuck awful day when he'd been imprisoned yet again.

“Barty?” Molly's cat screech voice seeped into his ears. “On with the cleaning!” 

He snarled. The urge to end her life so strong his vision blurred. It would only take a moment. Two words, a flash of brilliant green light and Molly Weasley would be dead at his feet. He closed his eyes, seeing her lifeless face haloed by frizzy red hair, her annoying voice silenced forever. 

“I won't tell you again!” 

Snapping his eyes open, he saw the room swaying. That slow back and forth motion that made everyone around him so uneasy. He didn't try to halt it. Why bother? It helped to keep the madness in check. Withdrawing his wand, Barty began to cast haphazard cleaning spells. By the third, his control had slipped to the point where Molly had taken over and sent him to his hut. It was the best place for him. She knew it and so did he. 

Once there, he sat in the dark, reliving the past that he tried so hard to forget. It had all been going so well. The escape from Azkaban, infiltrating Hogwarts, the Dark Lord inching ever nearer to killing Potter. Killing his father. It was fucking perfection. They were so close to winning he could taste it on the back of his throat. And then he was caught and sent back to that soul destroying place to live out the remainder of his life. Left to rot in a room that smelt of piss and decay. His ears filled with the screams of lunatics. His head with his own mad ramblings. 

Then that confusing day when the walls blew apart. The dust coating his tongue as rubble rained down around him. And air. Sweet, salt tinged air filling his lungs. Escape had been a fools dream, the anti-apparition wards in tatters but with no way for the freed prisoners to use them. Their wands locked up in the Ministries vaults and their magic weak with disuse. He'd sat in his cell, looking out at the storm tossed waves and known he was broken beyond repair. And he hadn't cared. Not one bit. 

The Auror's had started to come for them days later. Taking away the most dangerous first. Barty was on that list. His Azkaban cell had been replaced by one at the Ministry. A smaller, claustrophobic room that had pushed him to the very brink of insanity. More days blending into a confusing smear. And then he'd come, Zeagburg and his collar. He hadn't been afraid. He'd been incandescent. The thought of being controlled had scraped at his nerves with acid edged blades. The image of his father placing him under the Imperious curse rushing back into him with brutal force. He'd lost time. Huge chunks of time that left gaping black holes in his memories. 

The first year he recalled nothing of. Only pain and blood. Most of it his. The second year he'd been placed with the Patil's. He remembered that very well. It was delicious. Finding out the collar's boundaries, pushing until he was pulled into unconsciousness again and again. Finding out what he could and couldn't get away with. And ah, the moment he'd bit off that bitch Padma's tongue. The look on her face when she'd realised she had never been in control. The fear in her eyes had warmed his heart for months.

Every ounce of pain that followed had been worth it. He'd embraced it, used it to feed his madness. Let the constant trickle of blood smother the voices. Then he'd been forced on the Weasley's. They hadn't wanted him, detested his presence with ill-concealed tolerance, but had been quite happy to let George beat his grief into Barty's skin. Then she'd come, his brave little lion, and somehow managed to make him feel something beyond hatred and paranoia. She'd looked at him and seen beneath the madness, given him a new obsession to fill his heart. 

And now she was willingly going into the place where it had all started. She would be walking the hall with the fucks that had snapped the collar around his neck. He stared into the shadowed corners of the hut. Tongue flicking the corner of his lip with a rhythmic tap, tap, tap. 

 

 

As it turned out Hermione wasn't very good at making tea at all. That was despite the never ending three and a half hours Taybolt had spent teaching her how to fluff up a teabag and pour water. He'd even given her a timer that bleeped whenever she should pull out the bag and add the milk. After her first attempt had disappointed him, he'd produced a colour chart to help her check each stage in the four minute process.

Narrowing her eyes, she carefully pulled the teabag straight before plopping it into a cup. Once the kettle had boiled, she slowly began to pour. She was careful to make the stream of water flow in a constant trickle that touched the bone white china and not the teabag. Apparently that was vitally important. She waited for the timer to bleep at the same time as holding the chart next to the slowly darkening liquid, and waited for the colour to change to dark treacle. The moment it did, she dipped in a spoon and scooped out the bag just as the timer bleeped. Then she added the milk, once again using the chart to check the colour. Satisfied that it was correct, Hermione picked up the cup and left the small storage cupboard she'd spent most of her morning hiding in. 

Taybolt was at the very back of the vaults, his slim body embraced by the shifting shadows. He was tidying a collection of blue bottles. At least that's what he said he was doing; to Hermione's eyes he was merely moving them from one table to another. Naturally she'd offered to help him and been promptly told that learning to make tea correctly was her top priority. She was not amused. 

Shifting sideways she weaved her way through the tables, careful not to spill the tea or knock over any of the precariously stacked items that she passed. As they had done all morning, her eyes greedily swallowed up the various items around her. The fingers that weren't holding the cup twitched with the need to touch and explore. Everything around her was dusty and reeked of secrets and holding back from scooping something up was driving her mad. Reaching the back wall, she twisted left approaching Taybolt from the side. He was holding an inky blue bottle up to the weak light, tipping it back and forth to make the contents rattle inside. 

“Minister Taybolt?” Hermione waited until the Minister tossed her a distracted look. “Your tea.”

His gaze dropped to the cup, white eyebrows dipping over his eyes as he frowned. “Hmm.”

Putting the bottle down in the same place he'd picked it up from, Taybolt reached for the cup. His hand shook slightly as he lifted it to his nose and sniffed. A hideous snorting sound that actually made the surface of the tea ripple. 

“No, no, no, this isn't right at all!” He shoved the cup back into her hand, “try again!” 

Hermione clenched her fingers, skin pressing into the delicate china just short of breaking it. “Why don't you-”

“Hermione?” Cormac McLaggen's syrupy voice interrupted her.

She glanced towards the open door. Cormac was standing just inside the room, his arrogant gaze fixed on her. “I've come to collect you for lunch.” 

For a long moment Hermione stared blankly at him. The cup forgotten in her hand. She didn't want to go to lunch with him. But she also didn't want to spend another minute with 

Taybolt and his bloody tea either. Reluctantly she nodded her head, making her way to the little cupboard and placing the cup next to the tiny sink. She collected her robes and made her way to McLaggen, thinking that perhaps she could convince him to give her a tour of the Ministry first. 

“I thought we might eat in my office,” he said. 

Hermione bared her teeth in a smile. “That would be lovely.” She made her way up the stairs, careful to keep a wedge of space between them. “But I was hoping you could show me around first?”

At his frown she continued, “it's just that I haven't had time to look around yet and who better to show me than you.”

His chest puffed up at her false praise. “Quite right.” He reached forward to loop his arm through hers, pulling her into his side. He smelt strongly of cloves and sandelwood and she had to breathe through her mouth to prevent herself from sneezing. 

Cringing she let him lead her around the Ministry, listening to his pompous voice as he pointed to various corridors and told her what departments they contained. They started with the records office. It was on the same floor as the vaults but wasn't nearly as dusty or cluttered. Probably due to the pinched lipped witch who sat behind a gleaming desk and glared at them malevolently. Like the vaults there were no windows and the only light source were massive lanterns that floated at random intervals around the room. Hundreds of bookcases stood in neat lines like patient soldiers, tidy stacks of parchments and books filling the shelves. 

Leaving that room, they headed up the stairs towards the first floor. Hermione was already familiar with that area. It held the Floo network and lobby. As usual it was busy with people darting back and forth, robes fluttering behind them as they went silently about their business. And it was silent. An odd, oppressive silence, that was amplified by the cavernous space and marble floor, walls, and ceiling. It was almost as if they didn't dare talk to each other for fear of saying the wrong thing. Even Cormac stopped speaking as he led her to another staircase. 

When they reached the top he leaned into her, “this is where the Aurors work.” He pointed to a large door on her right. 

Hermione made her way over and poked her head inside. It was filled with parchment covered desks, wonky chairs and various Aurors pretending to look busy. In the corner she spotted the unruly black strands of Harry's hair. She made to wave but Cormac grabbed her hand and pulled her away.

“And down here is where all the Death Eaters awaiting distribution are kept.” He led her through a heavy iron banded door and into a dim corridor.

There were cells on either side, much like a muggle prison. Thick metal bars caged the Death Eaters in on all sides and the only furnishings inside the claustrophobic space were a lumpy mattress and a rusty bucket. It was difficult to see too far into the room but Hermione estimated that less than a quarter of the cells were occupied. But it was hard to tell as almost all the Death Eaters were unmoving. Sitting on their crap mattresses and staring into oblivion.

Before she could fully enter, Cormac once again pulled her away. “I'll take you to my floor now.” 

Hermione followed him silently, listening as he pointed out various doors and mentioned a slew of names that she'd never heard of before. But what she really wanted to know was where Minister Zeagburg's office was and where they kept the deeds for the Death Eaters. When it became apparent that neither was forthcoming, she decided to give him a nudge. 

“I expect you have access to all the important places,” she said. 

McLaggen's chest puffed up. “Most, yes.”

“The Deeds office?” she asked. 

“Not there,” Cormac's wrist brushed her hip and she knew that he was deliberately timing it so that his arm touched her every other step. “Zeagburg's in charge of all that. It's joined to the back of his office and only a few are allowed in.”

“Zeagburg. He's the one that came up with the idea to collar the Death Eaters in the first place isn't he?” she said. 

“Mmm.” He swept a hand through his hair in a seemingly careless gesture. “Why the interest?” 

Hermione shrugged. “I'm just curious. I bet he'd be fascinating to talk to.” 

“Nah.” Cormac began to lead her towards a set of stairs. “He's like a hermit. Once he shuts himself in his office, you don't see him for the rest of the day.” 

“Oh. Perhaps you could invite him to the party, I really would love to meet him.” She could see her persistence was beginning to irritate him. The area between his eyebrows was furrowing and the curve of his lip looked forced. 

“I'm afraid he wouldn't be interested, so there would be little point in asking him.” He reached forward to take her hand. “Now. Shall we eat?”

Hermione had little choice but to agree, sensing that she'd pushed him as far as she could. McLaggen quickly ended the tour after that, leading her to his office. It was a large square room, the walls painted a deep maroon and blocky furniture eating up the space. His desk was huge, topped with brown leather and empty but for a couple of quills and a jar of ink. There was a bookcase standing against the far wall, but it wasn't filled books, instead the shelves held dozens of Quidditch medals and trophies. 

She turned from her inspection to see Cormac ordering some food from a weary looking elf. He popped away, returning a second later with two steaming bowls of soup and warm crusty bread smeared with butter. The poor thing's arms shook as he placed the large tray on McLaggen's desk. The moment he disappeared, Cormac summoned his chair and placed it next to hers. He crooked his finger, beckoning her over to the throne like seats. Hermione made her slow way towards him, almost gagging when a wave of his aftershave filled her throat. It took every bit of strength she had to sit by him without letting her disgust show. 

“Just like Hogwarts.” His moved his thigh so that it was touching hers. 

Hermione's skin crawled but she didn't dare move, knowing that she needed him onside to make the plan work. She picked up her spoon and began scooping soup into her mouth so she wouldn't have to talk to him. The entire time she was wondering why his touch made her want to shower and Barty's made her squirm. Surely it should be the other way around. Yet, whenever the Death Eater was pressing close she didn't feel crowded or smothered. She felt safe. It was nice, after so many years of being the one who was constantly looking after Ron and Harry, worrying about every facet of their lives. Living everyday with panic tightening her muscles in case she missed something that would help them win or even just keep them alive. It was a terrible responsibility. One that should never have been thrust onto the shoulders of children.

“Hermione?” 

She flicked her gaze towards a frowning McLaggen. “Sorry, I was miles away.”

An oily grin kicked up the corners of his lips. “Thinking about the party were you?” 

Hermione blinked, quickly shuffling her thoughts back into place. “Absolutely, I can't wait.” She forced her mouth to smile but wanted nothing more than to vomit in his lap. 

“That's good,” Cormac leant towards her, hot breath basting her cheek. “I've got some special games planned, just for you and your psychotic shadow.” 

A shard of ice knifed through her heart. “I... well, that is, I wasn't actually planning on bringing Barty.”

“But you'll need him to chaperone.” He tipped his head back, regarding her through shrewd eyes. 

Hermione clenched her teeth. “I didn't think I'd need him-”

“Oh, you'll need him,” Cormac interrupted. “He'll be our star performer.” 

His words filled her with absolute fear and such intense loathing that she could taste it. An acrid bitterness that sat in her mouth and refused to leave, no matter how much she swallowed.

“So you'll bring him?” Cormac said.

It was posed as a question but the order behind it was clear to hear. She wouldn't be allowed to get away with not taking Barty. Not unless she refused to go herself. Hermione settled on a meaningless baring of teeth, hoping it would pass for a smile. 

“Well, this has been lovely, Cormac.” Hermione pushed to her feet, “but now I really must be getting back to work.” 

She saw him place his hands on top of his desk, his dark robes bunching around his lap as he prepared to rise. Before he could speak, she gave a quick wave and darted out of the door. Hermione had never been more glad to get back to tea making in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Thanks so much to those of you who have been leaving comments. I'm slowly getting used to how AO3 works now. The good news is I have two more chapters ready and waiting to post ;)


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Neville was tending to the small patch of garden outside the house when Hermione arrived. It wasn't much of a garden, not really, more a tamer patch of land that circled their home. The weeds were forever bullying the herbs into submission and he had to spend several hours each day yanking them out. The moment he heard the dry pop of Apparition he glanced over his shoulder and saw her. She was wearing a knee length skirt, a white blouse and a frown. 

“First day and you already look set to hand in your notice,” he said. 

The frazzled looking witch gasped in surprise before rushing towards him. “Neville! It's so good to see you.” She wrapped him in a tight hug. “And yes. I am ready to tell them they can shove the bloody job.” 

“So why don't you?” he asked, slightly bemused that she seemed so at ease with him. 

Of course, for her the last time she'd seen him was a few months ago, but it had been three years for him. He felt slightly odd as he awkwardly patted her shoulder. She was still the same Hermione though and that at least made him smile. 

“I can't.” She pulled away, eyes sweeping over him. “You look good.” 

He smiled shyly at the slightly wide-eyed look she was giving him. “Luna says I've grown into myself.” 

“She's right,” Hermione said. “Is she here?” 

“No. She's gone to Diagon Alley. You gonna come in and tell me why you can't leave the Ministry?” he asked, grinning when her face puckered up. 

She nodded and he led her up the uneven steps and into the house. The moment he stepped inside he took a deep breath. Filling his lungs with the flower scented air. He'd just brought several bunches of night blooming roses for Luna. They were a deep purple colour and smelt of spun sugar. He knew as soon as he'd cut the stems that they would make his blonde angel sigh. Leading Hermione into the kitchen, he jutted his chin at the small rickety table. 

“Do you want some tea?” he said. 

“No, I bloody well don't!” she snapped, then immediately winced. “Sorry, Neville. I've been making tea all day and apparently I don't have the knack for it.”

Neville twisted to the sink and began to wash the dirt off his hands. “There's a knack to making tea?” 

He heard Hermione thump down onto one of the chairs. “According to Minister Taybolt there is, and I'm crap at it.”

“I don't believe that for a moment, you could give Snape a run for his money when it came to making potions.” He grabbed a tea towel and dried his hands. “And potions and tea are they same aren't they? Put ingredient in and stir.”

He watched as she smiled fondly. Perhaps thinking of those awful lessons at Hogwarts. Snape breathing down their necks, waiting for them to make a mistake. Neville honestly believed that he wouldn't have survived those lessons if not for her help. Sitting down opposite her, he placed his hands on the table top and waited. He saw the moment the light mood changed, a kind of sadness settled over Hermione's features. She looked almost fragile. Her deep brown eyes intense as she watched him. 

“Luna's told you what I'm going to do?” she asked. 

Neville nodded. “There's no way to change your mind?”

“I can't. The way they're being treated is appalling, and I could never live with myself if I don't do something.” She brushed a hand across her face tiredly. 

“You think if it were the other way around, the Death Eaters would have treated us any better?” he said. 

Hermione huffed out a laugh. “Of course not. And honestly Neville, this isn't so much about them as it is about me.” Her forehead crumpled into a frown. “I can't just pretend this isn't happening. It would be like letting Voldemort's evil seep back into the world again.” 

He grimaced but didn't disagree. What was happening was wrong. He'd known it from the moment they'd begun rounding up the Death Eaters like cattle. But especially when they'd started arresting people who had only very loose connections to those carrying the dark mark. It had made something inside him twitch uneasily. At the very beginning he'd voiced that unease and been very quickly scoffed at. He was Neville Longbottom, the bumbling fool who tripped over his own feet. Yes, he'd killed Nagini, but it was luck they all said. And if not luck then good fortune. Godric Gryffindor's hand guiding his own. 

Neville didn't mind. He hated being the centre of attention and as long as he had Luna and his plants, he was quite happy. Although seeing the determination that cloaked Hermione, he wasn't sure how long his quite happy would last for. 

“So. What do you want?” he asked. 

Her eyes darted towards him before guiltily dropping to the tabletop. “I need you to make me a poison. It has to be deadly but with an antidote that isn't easily made. Something that only shows the symptoms when it's almost too late.” 

“I... Hermione... you're going... no wait. I don't want to know.” He whispered.

A silent moment thickened the air between them. 

He watched as she nibbled her lip, chewing until it flushed bright red. “Will you do it?”

Neville wanted to say no. It was a ridiculous plan, dangerous. But it was Hermione Granger and she was the smartest witch he knew, and if anybody could make it work then it was her. He didn't just know that, he believed it. Besides, he knew Luna wanted to help, she'd actually been the one to talk him into it in the first place. His head was already thinking up various herbs and ingredients he could use. He'd have to come up with something new. Something unusual. 

“Neville?” 

Hermione's exasperated voice broke through the unfurling list of herbs he had circling his brain. “Sorry. Thinking.” 

“Would you be able to make it undetectable? And untraceable as well?” she asked.

“Yeah. I think so, it might take me a few weeks though.” He warned.

She nodded. “That's fine. It'll take a while to set everything up anyway.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her what she needed to set up, but in all honesty he didn't want to know. The knowledge would only turn him into a nervous wreck anyway. 

“Can I ask you something?” Hermione said, brown eyes hesitant. 

“Sure.” 

“Why are you helping?” She leant forward. “You have more reason than anybody to hate them after what they did to your parents.”

Neville frowned. He did hate them. But he'd lived with that hate for so long that he was honestly tired of feeling it pressing against him. And despite how much he'd fed that hate, his parents hadn't been fixed. They'd never be fixed and thanks to Luna he'd come to terms with that. He now absolutely refused to let that hate creep into his future. 

“It needs to end,” was all he finally said.

-////////////////////////////-

Two days after Hermione had met with Neville, George Weasley was pacing back and forth in the Burrows cluttered living room. He'd been doing it for the last fifteen minutes and was rapidly getting on Barty's nerves. The redhead had informed him an hour ago that he was attending the Party at McLaggen's with Hermione. 

It was the first time Barty had heard about any of it. What grip he had on his sanity slipped the tiniest amount. 

“Are you ready Granger?” George finally shouted up the narrow staircase. 

“What?” Hermione replied.

Even from downstairs Barty could hear the nervousness sharpening her tone. She'd been up there for hours. Primping and preening for fuckwit McLaggen. His lip curled into a sneer, his dark mood descending even further at the thought of hands other than his touching her skin. When George pushed passed him, he barely stopped himself from lashing out at the streak of piss, his temper already in tatters. 

“Well hurry up! We won't wait for you much longer,” the Weasley brat yelled. 

A long silent moment passed. And then rushed footsteps, thudding across the ceiling. “What did you say?”

“I said, we won't wait for you,” he repeated.

Barty allowed his eyes to flick towards the stairs where a panicked looking Hermione was hurrying down. “You're going?”

“Yeah, course.”

“But, George...” Barty narrowed his eyes when her gaze darted nervously towards him. “I didn't think you liked this sort of thing.” 

A flood of rage swept through him so swiftly he actually took a step towards her, hands fisted at his sides. His little bird had been planning on going to the party without him. It was evident in every worried glance and twitch of her fingers. He bared his teeth in a manic smile. Perhaps he shouldn't have avoided her for so long; she was starting to think she didn't need him. That certainly wouldn't be allowed to happen. He let his eyes sweep over her body mockingly, grin widening when a soft blush tinted her cheeks. She had on a dove grey dress that skimmed every curve and swept to her knees in soft folds. He was at least pleased that it covered her chest and shoulders. What control he had would surely slip if the fuckwit touched those parts of her skin. 

“Can we go now then?” George asked, already standing by the Floo. 

Barty watched as Hermione threw the redhead an irritated look. “What's the bloody hurry,” she muttered. 

A smirk pulled his lips wider when he realized she was stalling. She really didn't want him to go. He stepped towards the Floo, deliberately turning his back on her. 

“Granger, come on,” George huffed out. 

“Okay, okay.” She walked towards them. “Why are you so eager to go anyway?” 

“This is the first time Mum's let me out of the house in forever.” He shuffled from foot to foot impatiently. “I don't even care that it's one of McLaggen's parties.” He grabbed a handful of Floo powder, threw it into the flames and spit out 'House McLaggen' before stepping through when the fire flared green.

Barty felt Hermione closing in on him, her heat brushing his side. Just as she drew level, his hand flashed out to circle her wrist. His fingers digging deep enough to make the delicate bones flex. 

“Going to leave without me were you?” He whispered it into the space beside her ear. 

She was trembling as she slowly turned to face him. “Yes.” 

“And why would you do that little bird?” His breath touched the line of her neck and he smirked as she shivered. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” She asked instead of answering. 

Barty felt his face stiffen. His eyes snapping up to meet her determined gaze. Always willing to meet his stare, even when his edges were blurred by insanity. “You make me feel things and I haven't decided if I like it yet or not.”

She yanked her wrist free. “Are you going to flip out tonight?” 

He lifted his fingers and traced them over the curve of her jaw. “Sometimes I need to,” he murmured, “it quietens my mind and I won't hurt you after.” 

Her eyes widened. “After?” 

“When I come to you tonight.” His tongue flicked out to touch the side of his lip. 

The hand touching her face dropped to her hip. He pushed, shoving her towards the Floo. Before she disappeared he called her name. “It's going to be bad tonight. Don't try to help me.”

He smirked at the look of alarm she gave him as she faded from view. It was such an odd feeling; to have someone worry about him. He wasn't sure he liked it at all. Of course, his mother had worried over him, but then again, all mothers cared for their children in such a way. No matter their faults or behaviour. But to have someone choose to worry about him...that was new and unsettling. He shook the thoughts aside and pulled in a lungful of the Burrow's hated air before following her through. 

The tense atmosphere hit him as soon as he stepped onto the expensive rug. The room was littered with people. Their voices chattering with barely concealed excitement. Behind them, like shadows come to life, were their Death Eater slaves. Silent puppets ready to dance when their masters pulled the strings. The room was lit by candles, the flickering yellow light forcing an intimate air. He was dimly aware of the others giving him wary looks, but his attention was eaten up by the fuckwit approaching Hermione. He almost lost it when the oily wanker put his arm round her shoulders, pulling her into his side like she belonged there.

“Drink?” The fuckwit pushed a glass of amber liquid into Hermione's hand. 

“Umm, thanks,” she muttered. 

Barty sneered, shifting close enough that her elbow brushed his stomach. He saw her spine snap straight as she tried to contain the panic of being trapped between the two of them. Over the top of her head he saw McLaggen frown. The blonde's brow wrinkled, irritated at his presence. 

“Go find Weasley.” The fuckwit ordered, twisting Hermione away from him. “You're not needed yet.”

The edge of his vision blurred as the voices sang in his head. He started to sway, the madness taking over. Yes, tonight was going to be bad.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Hermione felt sick. Her stomach churned, and she couldn't quite manage to catch a full breath. The rapid pounding of her heart filled her ears with the sound of panic, and the air left the taste of fear on her lips along with adrenalin-fuelled excitement. Cormac was steadily leading her away from Barty, and she didn't know whether to be relieved or worried at the distance that stretched between them. 

“I'll find us somewhere quiet to talk,” McLaggen leant down to murmur into her ear. 

A shudder of revulsion rushed through her as her grip tightened on the glass she was holding. It was going to be like Slughorn's party all over again. Cormac trying to slip his hand up her skirt and her spending the entire night avoiding his unwelcome touch. “Fine,” she forced out through gritted teeth. 

She didn't take much notice of the witches and wizards around her. In truth, she couldn't bear to see their faces, too afraid of who she'd see looking back at her. It was bad enough that George was here, no, worse than bad. It was a bloody disaster. It was going to be a bloody disaster. She'd been so careful not to mention the party to anyone at the Burrow. Even going so far as to lie to them and say she was heading over to Luna's, yet somehow George had known and now Barty was here. 

She was pulled from those thoughts when Cormac pushed her towards a love-seat in the corner. It was a plush velvet monstrosity draped in shadows and only just big enough for the two of them. Twisting, she perched on the edge, clamped her knees together and placed the glass on her thigh. She barely managed to conceal a flinch when McLaggen settled down next to her, laying his hand across the back of the seat and spreading his legs so that he touched her from hip to ankle.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” Cormac drawled. 

Hermione smiled politely and shook her head. 

“Well you do.” His hand dropped from the back of the seat to run down her spine in an intimate caress. “Stunning in fact.”

“Thank you.” She shifted away from his touch and pretended to look around the room. 

Her ploy backfired spectacularly when his hand found the curve of her hip instead, coming to rest just above the swell of her bum. She felt her face harden in distaste but didn't dare move away so soon. Instead, she took a gulp of her drink, concentrating on the bitter taste and fiery heat. The moment she swallowed the alcohol, she coughed, hating the way it left her mouth dry. 

“Do you have these parties often?” she asked as her eyes darted around the room. 

“No. Just every now and then.” His thumb began to make slow circles on her back. “They always get pretty wild though, especially when the games start.” 

Hermione shifted to face him. “What kind of games?” 

Cormac lifted his hand and pointed to a table in the corner. It was surrounded by a small clump of witches and wizards; George was among them. His bright hair stood out in sharp contrast to those around him as his hand gestured back and forth in jerky motions. 

“The betting pool.” Cormac declared. 

Hermione felt her earlier sickness return, this time accompanied by thinly veiled panic. 

“It's okay, you stand a good chance of winning with Crouch,” he said, mistaking her wide-eyed look of alarm. 

“Oh,” she managed to croak out, “so George is over there betting?” 

“Yeah.” He leant forward, encasing her in his heat and scent. “You see the two bowls?” At her nod he continued. “One contains a slip of parchment with a Death Eaters name on it. 

The second the game they'll play later on. George is putting Crouch's name in the pool and laying a bet on him winning.”

“I see. It's almost like a twisted version of the TriWizard Tournament,” Hermione murmured, feeling a creeping numbness rise up from her toes. 

Cormac let loose a throaty laugh. “Exactly, and it can be just as vicious.” 

She heard him say the words but it was like they wouldn't register. Her brain didn't want to acknowledge them. The skin on the back of her neck started to prickle, quickly followed by the feeling of ice slipping down her skin. She stood up, her eyes flicking around the room to pick out the Death Eaters hiding inside the shadows. She spotted the hulking form of Goyle first. He was standing in a corner looking confused. Next to him, standing perfectly still, was Avery, and beside him an emaciated looking Rabastan Lestrange. 

Her gaze shifted and spotted Mulciber hovering behind Angela Johnson's shoulder and beyond them stood Antonin Dolohov. He was staring back at her with an expression of such hatred that she felt her chest constrict. The scar that stretched across her breastbone throbbed in time with her heart. She didn't know how long they would have continued to stare at each other, with Cormac twittering in the background, if Barty hadn't of approached the Death Eater and whispered something into his ear. Whatever he said made Dolohov stiffen and shift his gaze. It seemed that even Barty's fellow Death Eaters were afraid of him. 

Cormac's hand grabbed her wrist. “Why aren't you sitting?” 

Hermione looked at him blankly for a moment, frantically trying to pull herself together. “I need to use the loo.” 

“Then let me escort you.” He made to get up but she shook her head and pushed her glass into his hand.

“Hold this for me. I won't be a minute.” She strode away before he could try to follow her. 

It wasn't until she left the room that she realized that she didn't know where the bathroom was. The house was one of those huge mansions that had countless rooms and hidden alcoves. She might be wandering around for ages before she found it. Sighing, she headed for the staircase, grateful that she didn't actually need the loo. She'd just wanted a minute to compose herself and find a way out of this mess. 

From the corner of her eye she saw a flash of movement. As she twisted to the side, she saw Pansy Parkinson beckoning her towards a room. She quickly made her way across the marble floor and followed Pansy into a large ballroom. The walls were covered in mirrors, and the only light came from large floating chandeliers that slowly pirouetted around the vast space. Everything was polished to shining perfection, and despite there only being five of the chandeliers, the room was brightly lit. 

Hermione turned to face Pansy. “We have to stop this.” 

A coal black eyebrow crept up Parkinson's forehead. It was an effortless skill that all purebloods seemed capable of. Almost like they had an extra muscle that was specifically made for that condescending expression. “How?” 

“I...a fire!”

“We're magic, Granger. Cormac will simply have it put out and continue the games.” 

Hermione felt panic swell up inside her. “I can't let it happen. I won't.” 

“Then you'll get yourself killed and us along with you.” Pansy cocked her head to the side, the collar biting into the reddened skin around her neck. “Who are you so worried about?” 

She dropped her gaze from Pansy's shrewd one. “Everyone, of course.”

“Me?”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded her head vigorously enough that several strands of her hair slipped free of her bun.

Parkinson gave a half hearted smirk. A ghost of the one that had often been sent Hermione's way at Hogwarts. “I'm not in the games.”

“Well that's good but I still can't allow-”

“They're watching you,” Pansy interrupted.

Her heart skipped a beat at those ominous words. “What? Who?” She crept closer to the raven haired girl as she spoke.

“The Ministry. I overheard Cormac's father telling him to keep an eye on you.” Pansy leant towards her. “He doesn't believe that you're okay with the whole slave thing. And the Ministry can't afford to have Hermione Granger kicking up a fuss. This party isn't a celebration...it's a test to see what you'll do.” 

Hermione stilled at her words, panic sweeping through her so fast she felt dizzy. “Cormac's faking it?”

Parkinson wrinkled her nose in disgust. “No, he fancies you Granger, but he thinks he'll win either way. If you pass the test, he's convinced he'll get in your pants eventually. Fuck up tonight and you'll be in his bed the moment his father and the Ministry are finished with you.” 

“So, I'm just supposed to watch?” She balled her hands into fists. “I don't think I can do that.”

“You have to.” Pansy hissed. “If you don't the Ministry will arrest you and start poking around in your head.” She narrowed her eyes. “And who do you think they'll see?”

“I-”

“Everyone who knows about this plan of yours. We'll all disappear Granger, tortured in ways you can't even imagine. All because you couldn't watch the Death Eaters do what   
Voldemort made them do at every single Revel. They'll be hurt, but they will survive.”

Hermione swallowed the urge to cry. “How do you know?” 

Pansy looked incensed, her pale cheeks flushed bright pink. “Because I've played those games before. And other, dirtier versions.”

Everything inside her squeezed tight at Parkinson's words. She'd known, of course she had, but she'd hoped sexual punishments didn't happen. She opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by the sound of voices from outside the door. The blood drained from her face when it opened and everyone started to file in. George came through the door third, followed by Barty. His hands were twitching, and his face looked as though carved from ice. She tore her gaze away from him and spotted Cormac coming towards her. He was frowning, the skin between his eyebrows was puckered in annoyance. Still reeling from Pansy's warning she strode towards him, terrified that his suspicions about her had been confirmed. She didn't dare look at Barty, who she could feel watching her from his place beside George. 

“I got lost.” She looped her arm through his. “Your house is lovely but huge.”

Cormac's expression cleared. “Perhaps I'll show you around sometime.” 

Hermione forced a smile, “I'd like that very much.” 

“You ready to see the games?” 

She nodded, unable to speak passed the lump in her throat. 

“Then I'll get it started,” he said. 

Hermione watched, fear filling her chest as Cormac strutted to the centre of the room. He murmured something to Pansy, who then left. 

“We're all here to celebrate Hermione's new job at the Ministry,” He began, voice loud enough to cut through the quiet conversations that circled the room. “And what better way to do that than to celebrate with a games night?” 

There was a round of cheers as Hermione's eyes flickered around the room. The Patils waved her over but she ignored them, instead making her way over to George and Barty. 

Surprisingly, George didn't look as excited as she would have expected. If anything, his face showed a kind of tired bitterness that didn't suit him at all. Beside him Barty was swaying, his dark eyes fixed on a spot in front of him. Every few seconds his tongue would dart out to touch the corner of his mouth. 

“Okay?” she asked softly. Although she'd directed the word to George, she knew the question was intended for Barty. 

George hummed but didn't answer. Barty flinched but didn't look her way. Biting her lip she turned away to stare at Cormac. He was basking in the limelight, grinning and joking like the fool he was. Just then, Pansy returned, carrying the two bowls that contained the slips of paper. She made her way to Cormac and stood beside him, her head bowed and eyes downcast. 

“Let's see who's first shall we?” McLaggen said. 

The crowd shuffled in excitement, tension rising as they eagerly made a loose circle around the gloating Cormac.

“Hermione, would you do the honours?” He held his hand out towards her in silent challenge. 

She swallowed, repeating Pansy's earlier words inside her head. Listing the names of the people who would be hurt if she did anything to interfere. Luna. Neville. Barty. Draco. Pansy. She chanted the names with every step she took as she made her way towards McLaggen. Before he could show off any further she dipped her hand into the bowl and pulled out a slip of parchment.

Her hands shook as she unfurled the waxy rectangle and read the name. “Gregory Goyle,” she said, not recognising the dull voice as her own. 

The Patil twins clapped their hands and gestured for Goyle to go into the centre. Hermione felt the burn of impending tears as he lumbered forward, a vacant expression marring his face. He looked so unlike the boy she knew that it was hard for her not to reach forward and pat his hand, no matter that he'd been a dreadful bully.

Luna. Neville. Barty. Draco. Pansy, she silently reminded herself.

Cormac's hand reached up and nudged her arm. “Another name,” he murmured. 

Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek as she once again plucked a name from the bowl. “Antonin Dolohov.” 

He didn't need prompting to move forward and strode into the circle with calculated precision. As he came to a stop in front of her, Hermione could feel his hateful stare sliding over her.

“Now a game for our contestants to play.” Cormac called out.

Hermione turned to the second bowl. Her fingers were trembling as she once again pulled out a slip of parchment. Bile rose into her throat when she read the writing. She had to swallow twice before she could read the words out loud. 

“Ossis Effergo.” 

The bone-breaking curse. 

An excited murmur broke out as McLaggen led Hermione to the side. She stood silently, her eyes fixed on the polished floor. 

“You know the rules,” Cormac said. “First one to throw down their wand.”

“Don't you dare throw it down, Goyle!” Parvati hissed. 

Hermione turned and glared at the stupid girl. She'd just ordered him to play until he passed out or couldn't lift his wand. The less than intelligent Slytherin now had no choice but to endure the game, even if didn't want to. She noted with utter disgust that Dolohov needed no such instruction. 

The two men arranged themselves in the centre, at least ten steps separating them as they prepared to cast. 

“On three!” Cormac called. 

“One.” The crowd leant forward. 

“Two.” Dolohov smirked. 

“Three!”

Two streaks of navy light erupted form their wands as they spat out the spell. There was a loud crack as two bones simultaneously broke. The crowd cheered as Goyle's ankle gave way. His foot flopped to the side and he whimpered, shifting to take his weight on his other leg. Dolohov looked unscathed at first sight, but when Hermione looked more closely, she saw his breathing was uneven, likely caused by a broken rib.

“Again,” Cormac drawled. 

Hermione folded her arms across her chest, her fingers digging into her hips when the two men cast. That same sharp crack filled her ears, bringing with it the urge to vomit. 

This time the spell hit Goyle's shoulder. The one he needed to cast with. A strangled cry crawled out of his mouth, adding to the shouts and yells of the watching crowd. Dolohov had taken a hit to the thigh, and like Goyle he was now balanced on one leg, the fingers holding his wand shook ever so slightly. 

Cormac chuckled, leaning down to whisper into Hermione's ear, “Goyle doesn't stand a chance.” 

He was right. Dolohov's face had taken on a cruel edge, his eyes narrowed in rage. The next spell was going to be bad. Hermione bit her lip as they pointed their wands and prepared to cast. 

“Ossis Effergo!” rang out, followed by a flash of blue light and the hideous snapping of bone.

Goyle screamed and dropped to the ground and holding his hands to his face. His jaw was hanging loose, detached from the rest of his skull. A trickle of blood crept out of his lips and dripped down his chin. Hermione quickly averted her eyes, her horrified gaze falling on Dolohov. The splintered end of a bone was protruding out of the skin, just above his wrist. It didn't look white, as she'd suspected, but cream with bits of dark pink muscle clinging to it. Blood trickled down his fingers and the flesh surrounding the wound was already turning a putrid purple.

Unable to watch any longer, she let her eyes drift towards Barty. He was watching impassively, his eyes dark and blank as his body swayed in a steady rhythm. Hermione continued to watch him as Cormac shifted beside her. 

“Keep going. Neither of you have dropped your wand yet,” he commanded. 

His words tugged at her temper. The need to shout out that not only could Goyle not drop his wand, but with his jaw in tatters he wouldn't even be able to fire off his own spell.   
Luna. Neville. Barty. Draco. Pansy. She repeated it several times, keeping her eyes fixed on Barty. Sensing her stare, his head twisted to face her. His tongue darted out to tap his lip in a quick agitated motion. From the corner of her eye she saw Dolohov point his wand, and a second later he spat out the curse. There was no sound from Goyle other than a wet gasp. 

Antonin's curse hit him in the ribs. He fired another, breaking Goyle's other ankle. The third broke his arm. With every breaking bone Hermione repeated a name inside her head and tried to pretend it was twigs she heard snapping. She pressed her feet into the ground and forced herself to remain still. Her fingers continued to bite into her hips, surely leaving bruises behind. It seemed to take forever for Goyle to lose consciousness and drop his wand. As soon as he did, he was dragged from the centre and dumped in a corner. Padma half-heartedly fixed the worst of his injuries. Dolohov was ordered to fix his own. 

Whilst that happened, Cormac draped his arm over her shoulder and leant down so that his breath touched the shell of her ear. 

“Enjoying it so far?” 

Hermione nodded. “It's certainly interesting,” she murmured. 

“I wasn't sure you'd be able to watch to be completely honest.” His thumb brushed the skin of her arm. 

“Why not?” she asked. Her back tensed in alarm when she felt Barty's attention settle on them. No doubt furious that Cormac dared to touch what he considered his. 

Beside her, McLaggen moved closer until his lips brushed her cheek. “You know how you were at Hogwarts.” 

She managed, just barely, to remain still. “Well, we're not at Hogwarts any more are we?” 

McLaggen grunted as he pulled away. “Another name,” he gestured for Pansy to approach. 

Hermione bit her lip, dread creeping up her spine when Pansy came close enough for her to pick two more names out of the bowls. She did it quickly. 

“Avery.”

The Death Eater moved to the centre, his face stoic as he awaited his opponent. 

Her fingers plucked out another slip. It was only because of the list of names seared into her head, that she was able to say the name written there so calmly. “Bartemius Crouch Junior.” 

With with a racing heart, she watched him take his place opposite Avery. She could barely breathe past the panic in her throat. Barty looked indifferent, his face impassive as he stared at Avery. 

A hand brushed down her spine and she jumped. “Now the game,” Cormac murmured. 

She felt Barty's attention fall on her and quickly averted her gaze. The bowl was in front of her but looked oddly blurry. Even her hand didn't look like her own as she reached forward and withdrew a slip. The room seemed to hold its breath as she smoothed out the parchment.   
Fire endurance. 

A chuckle circled the room. “This is a favourite amongst us,” McLaggen whispered to her. “The Death Eater must use his wand to produce a flame, hold it at arms length while his opponent has to place his hand over it. First one to drop the flame looses.”

Hermione smiled tightly. Luna. Neville. Barty. Draco. Pansy.

She held her breath when Barty and Avery produced cool blue flames from the tips of their wands. Each man extended his wand towards the other. She watched Barty's face twist maniacally. His eyes darkened in eagerness, and his lips stretch into a terrifying grin. The hand that wasn't holding the wand was already raised and poised over Avery's flame. 

“Go!” Cormac yelled. 

Hermione flinched as the two Death Eaters placed their palms over the other one's flame. A second passed, then two, both of them able to withstand what must have been excruciating pain. She could see the skin on Barty's palm begin to redden and blister. She switched her gaze to Avery and saw the same thing. Little tendrils of smoke rose up from their palms and she realised it was because their skin was cooking. 

A wave of sickness swept through her so swiftly she felt dizzy. Her eyes darted to Avery's face. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and his jaw was clenched tightly shut. Give up. Give up. Give up! 

She could smell it now, and the horror of inhaling the scent of burnt human flesh, would be something she would never forget. It was indescribable. As was the sizzling sound the flame made as it seared the skin. Her gaze switched to Barty. Everything about him danced on the edge of insanity. So much so, that she could hardly recognize him. The game went on and on. The seconds merged into one horrifying moment. Hermione knew the flames must have hit muscle by now. Yet, neither looked ready to concede. Although, Avery's flame looked somewhat weaker than before. 

A dry pop split the air in front of Cormac. 

Confused, Hermione glanced down to see a rumpled elf gazing up at him with liquid eyes. 

“Cormac's father wants to see him immediately.” The elf's voice was a mere squeak, but it cut through the sound with surprising ease.

McLaggen's face twisted in disgust. “Now? Can't it wait?” 

“No master. It has to be now.” 

Cormac turned to her in disappointment. “My apologies, but I will have to leave. Will you stay?” 

Hermione frowned, “I'd rather not stay here without you.” She turned to Barty and found him looking directly at her. Not a hint of pain was showing on his face. “I think I might just go home to bed.” 

The Death Eater's eyes darkened as her words filtered into his head. Quite deliberately he pulled his hand from the flame, losing the match. She heard George call out a curse but   
ignored him, instead turning to face Cormac, “and it seems that Barty has lost anyway.” 

McLaggen's brow furrowed, but before he could twist to face him, Hermione put her fingers on his wrist. “Thank you so much for tonight.”

She watched a self-satisfied smirk curve Cormac's lips. His head dipped as if to kiss her and she quickly backed away. A sulky look settled on his face and she grinned. 

“You mustn't keep your father waiting.” 

He grimaced, nodded his head and wandered over to the floo. Hermione waited until he'd disappeared before she marched over to George. “We're going home.” Her tone was like ice. It could have frozen water had there been any near. 

George bristled at her order. “I'm not going anywhere, Granger.”

Hermione pulled out a sickly sweet smile. “Then I'll go back to the Burrow, wake up your mother and tell her you aren't feeling well, must be a delayed reaction to your experiment.” 

The redhead scowled fiercely and pushed passed her. Hermione winced at the jolt of pain but followed him towards the Floo. Barty was already there waiting silently for them. His dark eyes never left her as she walked towards him. They both knew what she'd meant when she'd said those words.

Tonight, in her bedroom, he would get to do more than just stare.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

Molly was sitting at the table when they returned to the Burrow. She was wearing her nightclothes and cradling a cup of hot chocolate. It filled the air with milky sweetness and swirling steam. The moment she saw them, she jumped to her feet and began to pour two more cups from a copper pan that was set on the stove. 

“Did you have a good time, dears?”

George grunted, grabbed his cup and made his way up the stairs. “I'm going to bed.” 

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line and tried to prevent the angry words she wanted to shout after him from slipping free. The stupid prat was so caught up in his own misery that he couldn't see how much he was hurting his mother. She narrowed her eyes and made her way to the table. Molly was fussing with a teacloth in the effort to hide her tears. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Barty disappearing out of the back door but didn't turn to look at him. Her stomach twitched with the knowledge of what would happen later. Of what he would do to her. Of what she would let him do. 

She pulled out a chair and sat down. “You're up late,” she said as she reached for the mug of chocolate to still her nervous hands.

“Hmm, Arthur was called into the Ministry.” 

Hermione put the mug she was about to drink from back down. It landed on the table with a soft thump. “Cormac was called away too. Do you think something happened?” 

Molly frowned. “I'm sure it's nothing,” 

Hermione wasn't so certain about that. Something must have happened that was big enough that the Ministry was asking staff to come in after hours. She wondered if Harry or   
Ron had been called back as well. As that thought settled in her mind, she felt the familiar worry she'd lived with at Hogwarts fill her chest. It was oddly comforting in a disturbing kind of way. 

“You should go to bed, Hermione.” Molly leant across to pat her hand, “take your chocolate with you.”

“It's okay, I don't mind sitting with you,” she said.

Molly smiled softly. “I know you don't, but it's late and I'll be up myself very soon.” 

Hermione nodded, picked up her chocolate and began climbing the stairs. The closer she got to her room the more jittery she became. Her stomach churned sickly. Once inside, she put the hot chocolate down and lit a candle. She didn't know what to do. Should she undress?Where should she wait for him? Under the covers? On top of them?

Chewing her lip, she glanced at her bed and felt heat flood her cheeks. She immediately pressed her hands against them in the hopes of cooling down. It didn't work. Her heart thudded and sweat trickled down her back. It was absurd. Not ten minutes ago, she'd witnessed those horrid games and yet now all she could think about was what would happen when Barty showed up. Not the snapping of bones or the burning of flesh but how it would feel to taste Barty's kiss again. She dropped her hands and rushed to the door. 

Her teeth. She should brush her teeth, and probably try and do something with her hair. Hermione ran across the hall to the bathroom and promptly began to do both at the same time. She could hardly bear to look at her reflection as she frantically brushed her teeth and ran her fingers through her hair. As soon as she'd finished she returned to her room and pulled off her shoes. After a moments hesitation, she withdrew her wand and cast a contraceptive spell before placing her wand on the bedside table. 

And then she was faced with the same dilemma as before. Sucking in her bottom lip, she began to pace back and forth. Her hands lifted to her stomach in an effort to settle the somersaults it was preforming. A floorboard creaked outside of the door and she froze. It was swiftly followed by another and she sagged, realizing it was Molly retiring for the night. And that meant Barty would be arriving soon. Her mouth went dry as she recalled the look he'd given her. It has been filled with dark intentions. 

Several minutes crept by, as the Burrow settled with various creaks and groans. She continued to chew on her lip as she stared at the door and waited impatiently. Her hands fluttered around like restless birds. First to pat her hair, then to pull on her dress, before repeating the process again. 

Another creak sounded from outside the door, it was softer than before, almost deliberate. She held her breath when the handle began to turn. It seemed to take forever for the door to open enough for Barty to slip inside. The moment he did, he closed it with a gentle click and turned to face her. The candle light only partly illuminated his feral expression. His eyes looked feverish as he stared at her and there was a peculiar stillness about him that made her heart thump at twice its normal rate.

“Um, I wasn't sure-”

“Shh,” he interrupted, indicating she that should pick up her wand. “We're going to need a silencing charm.” 

Her stomach clenched at the implication his words held. Blinking, she stumbled towards the bed to retrieve her wand. Her hand shook as she reached for it. The moment it was in her palm she felt calmer, more in control. She straightened and prepared to cast. 

“Make sure it's a strong one, Hermione,” Barty said directly into her ear.

She gasped, twisting to face him and wondering how he'd been able to sneak up on her so quietly. He stood close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. Her stomach tightened at the hungry look he gave her and she took a small step back to give herself room to breathe. 

She raised her wand and prepared to cast. 

“And more light,” he said, before she could utter a word. “I want to see every inch of you.” 

Heat rushed into her cheeks as she nodded. Her voice was no more than a whisper as she mumbled the two spells. The room brightened when several more candles sprung to life, throwing out a warm amber glow. Hermione put down her wand and shuffled in place. Her eyes darted around the room in nervous anticipation. Barty was only a step away but she didn't dare look at him. The nearest she came was the toe of his boot. 

As the seconds ticked by she grew braver, her gaze reaching his knee, and then his thigh before noticing the red mark on his palm where the burn had been. She stared at it for a long time, remembering the manic look that had spread across his face when his flesh had been sizzling. He'd enjoyed it. Just like he was enjoying her discomfort and thinly veiled panic now. There was an inherent need to hurt both himself and those around him that broke her heart. She was beginning to understand that he used it to gain control over his insanity. 

Hermione pulled in a calming breath and finally met his stare. As she'd suspected, his dark eyes were drinking in her unease. She smiled softy and lifted her hand to his face. His jaw was rough against her fingertips and his eyes flashed in silent warning. 

“You're going to have to show me what to do,” she said.

His hand came up to snatch her wrist as a sly smile curled his lips. “I don't require you to do anything, little bird.” He dropped her hand and circled around until he was standing at her back. 

Hermione shivered when he swept her hair to the side and reached for the zipper on her dress. Her skin prickled when he began to pull it down agonisingly slow. Cold air hit her skin as the material parted. He didn't say a word and neither did she when he slid the dress off her shoulders. She trembled when it caught on her hips and he had to use his fingers to tug it off. 

Her hands fisted at the sight of it pooled at her feet. A barely there touch skimmed up her spine, pausing at the clasp of her bra before that too joined her dress on the floor. Instinct made her reach up to cover herself.

“Don't,” Barty murmured into the skin of her neck. 

She froze, face flushed and eyes fixed on the wall in front of her. His breath scalded her skin as he allowed his palms to brush down her sides and under the elastic of her knickers. Every nerve in her body felt electrified as he slowly lowered them down her thighs, knees and then calves. Hermione swallowed down her terror. She felt Barty step away from her and barely resisted the urge to turn and cover herself.

Her eyes closed when he brushed past her. She could feel him looking at her and it made her shiver in both fear and pleasure. 

“Are you afraid?” he asked. 

Hermione opened her eyes and glared at him. He was standing in front of her, a cruel expression twisting his features. Barely leased madness looked back at her. Even now he wanted to hurt her, swallow her screams until they filled his chest. It thickened the air between them and made it hard to breathe. 

“You want to hurt me, don't you?” she asked, folding her arms across her waist. 

Barty's cheek twitched, “yes.” His eyes moved over the scar on her chest. “But there are different ways to make you scream.” 

Heat pooled in her pelvis at his softly spoken promise. When he didn't move but continued to study her, she scowled and lifted her chin. 

“Are you just going to stand there?”

He smirked and stepped towards her. “It would be rather difficult to fuck you from here, don't you think?”

A furious blush rushed into her cheeks. “I-”

“Sit down Hermione.”

She was slightly affronted by his order but did as commanded. Mainly because she didn't know what else to do. Her breath stilled when he came to a stop in front of her, his crotch level with her face. She could see the outline of his arousal pressing against the fabric of his pants. When his narrow fingers came into view her eyes widened in alarm.

Barty chuckled, “not that.” 

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

“Not yet,” he added.

Her eyes flew up to his face, his expression was darkly amused as he cocked an eyebrow and tugged the bottom of his shirt out of his pants. He continued to watch her as he slowly began to undo the buttons. Her fingers twitched and she pressed her legs together as his pale chest was revealed. He didn't bother with all the buttons, just enough so that he could pull the shirt over his head.

Hermione's eyes trailed over his narrow chest, noticing the countless scars that were scattered across his skin. He was as slim as she'd expected but wiry with surprisingly ropey looking muscles. A tiny smattering of dark hair disappeared into the waist of his pants. Pants that he was now undoing. Her gaze caught on the Dark Mark emblazoned on his left inner forearm. It was shockingly dark against his pale skin. 

“Lie back,” he commanded. 

She blinked and gazed up at him. 

Barty's face was completely blank as he regarded her. His hand came up to fist her hair. “I said: lie back, Hermione.” He tugged on her hair until she tipped back onto the bed. 

Her heart thudded, something low down inside her pulsed. She fixed her eyes on his narrow lips. “Will you kiss me?” 

His pink tongue flicked out to trace over his bottom lip, “Oh, yeah.” 

Before he'd even finished speaking, Barty had sunk to his knees, separated her thighs, placed the right one over his shoulder and bent down to swipe that pink tongue along her wet folds. It was so unexpected, so intense, that Hermione stopped breathing. Every single muscle went stiff as a whimper escaped her throat. 

She almost doubled over when his fingers pulled her flesh apart and his lips started sucking insistantly on her clitoris. She gasped, her heels digging into his back and the bed. A tingling, prickling sensation spiralled out from her centre. Her back arched and her hands clutched the blanket. All she could do was hold on and fight to breathe. She felt the orgasm building inside her. The tell-tale twitch of everything below her waist clenching. She couldn't hold back the strangled moan that fell from her lips. And then Barty pulled away. 

“Uh,” was all she managed to gasp out. 

“Did you like that?” The bed dipped as Barty leant over her. 

Hermione opened her eyes and then had to close them when she saw how his chin and lips glistened from her wetness. “Why did you stop?” she whispered in a strangled voice. 

“Because I mean to torture you Hermione.” His fingers brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen onto her sweaty forehead. “If I can't do it with pain, then I'll do it with pleasure.”

He bent down to press damp kisses to her neck, biting lightly at her skin as he moved to her collarbone. She hesitated, before lifting her hands to his warm shoulders. He tensed beneath her fingers and she hid a smile in the soft strands of his hair. Perhaps he wasn't the only one who could torture with his touch. She tested the theory by running her nails down the back of his arms. 

Barty hissed and pulled back, his eyes narrowed at the smirk she couldn't contain. Slowly, while never removing his gaze from her, he fingered the scar that ran from the centre of her chest to the curve of her hip. Then he retraced the same route back up, this time sweeping his fingertips to the side to circle her nipple. It was done with such slow deliberation that Hermione couldn't help but squirm. She felt pinned beneath his stare and completely unsettled by his empty expression.

“I don't like to be played with, little bird.”

Sensing a shift in his mood, Hermione frowned. “I wasn't playing. Am I not allowed to touch you?” 

His eyes seemed to search her face and she had the odd feeling that he was puzzled. Had he really expected her not to want to touch him? Had anyone ever wanted to before?   
She felt her heart melt and made to reach for him, but he quickly batted her hand aside and scowled.

“Barty-”

“Don't.” The hand on her breast moved down her stomach. “Just let me do it my way.” His hand paused above the neat curls that darkened her mound. They hovered, waiting for her permission to continue. 

After a long moment she nodded. His palm cupped her and she sighed, tipping her hips when his middle finger parted her to rest against her clit. She was so slippery that he only needed to move it the smallest amount to make her moan. He rubbed along the side of her hard nub, the edge of his nail catching her in the most delicious way. 

Hermione closed her eyes and clamped down on her lip. Barty continued to torment her, using the same pressure and rhythm to drive her to the edge. She was sweating, and the heat of him next to her made her feel like she was on fire. She wanted to reach up. To touch him and pull him near, but she didn't dare in case it made him withdraw from her again. The bed dipped and she opened her eyes to see him moving to kneel on the floor.

Their eyes met and she gasped at the savage look he gave her. His finger continued to caress her, but slower, before dropping down to circle her entrance. His other hand grasped the back of her knee, slid slowly up the outside of her thigh, travelled over her hip to pause at the apex of her legs and open her dewy folds with his fingers. The cool air made her tighten and pulse.

And then his head dipped down and hot breath brushed her weeping flesh. Hermione held her breath and pressed her back into the mattress at the maddening friction. He still held her open and used the thumb of his other hand to manipulate her clit. She moaned, tossing her head to the side and shifting her hips. Then he began to draw small circles, alternating the pressure from hard to soft and back again. The sensation immediately made her stomach flutter. 

Just when she thought she might explode, Barty used his tongue. He dipped the moist tip into her quivering passage. She felt herself try to pull him deeper into her, but he backed away to sear her with his hot breath. The entire time he continued to draw those maddeningly slow circles. She let out a frustrated hiss and thumped the blankets. 

“Barty, please, don't...ahhh!”

His tongue was stroking into her again. Fucking her with stabbing thrusts that weren't nearly deep or hard enough. She felt the familiar tingle of impending orgasm and canted her hips. Her pelvis tightened and her sensitive flesh began to flutter. She pushed her heels into the bed, seeking to press herself more tightly against him. And then she came, screaming and whimpering, chanting his name, her fingernails digging into her palms to leave blood-filled crescents. Her hips jerked as the spasms rushed violently through her, before gradually tapering off. 

Barty continued to lap at her and make those tight circles with his thumb. It was almost too much. The sensation skirted the edge of pain and Hermione had to reach down to tug on his hair to make him stop. He ran his tongue up her slit to suckle on her engorged nub, chuckling when it made her flinch. But he didn't stop. He let his teeth painfully graze her over-sensitive clit, forcing her into another orgasm. Hermione screamed, the silencing charm absorbing her desperate cries. It was longer, more intense than the first and when it was over she sank boneless into the mattress. 

She felt him pull away but didn't have the energy to open her eyes. The air smelt musky and the only sound was her gasping breaths and then the slide of fabric against skin. Hermione felt her nerves return as Barty removed his pants. She wanted to open her eyes and look at him but wasn't sure if it would make her more anxious. So instead she remained in place, trembling as he eased onto her bed. His skin felt blisteringly hot where it touched her. 

Gathering her courage, she opened her eyes and met his stare. His eyes looked black in the soft light. As she watched, his tongue darted out to tap the side of his lip. The thought of where that tongue had just been made her blush a furious shade of red. Barty saw her mortified expression and smirked. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes. He was going to use that against her in the future. She could tell by the nasty set of his lips. 

“You haven't looked at me yet.” Barty teased. 

“I'm looking at you now,” Hermione replied. 

He reached up and curled his hand around the back of her neck. “Only my face. Are you scared to look?”

“A little.” She saw no point in lying to him.

“Then feel instead.” He shifted his hips until the hot length of him touched her hip. 

Hermione blinked. Surprise and alarm widened her eyes. “I...should I...do you want me to-”

“Quiet.” The humour had leaked from his face to leave his usual stern expression in place. “You know what to expect?”

She swallowed and gave him an uncertain nod. “It will hurt.”

Barty hummed and removed his hand from her neck, skimming it down her side. “Spread your legs for me.”

Hermione bit her lip and did as commanded. Her stomach flipped when he moved over her, positioning himself between her thighs. She kept her gaze fixed on his face when he reached down and grasped his cock. He slowly drew it back and forth along her sticky folds, spreading her wetness on his hard member. She gasped when the broad head rubbed over her clit. His eyes darted up to hers and he did it again, taking pleasure in her desperate whimpers. And then he slotted himself against her tight passage. 

Her hands reached up to hold onto his shoulders and although he tensed, he didn't tell her to move them. She held her breath when he started to push in. The pressure gave way to pain as he surged inside in one hard thrust. Hermione clenched her teeth and hissed. Her body twitched around him and she was more than a little grateful that he didn't start moving right away. She bent her knees and the motion tilted her hips, allowing him to slide in completely. She tried to relax, forcing her attention away from the uncomfortable fullness and onto his body. 

He was pressed against the length of her body, his chest touching hers, his face buried in her neck. The sharp bumps of his hipbones dug into her. His balls touched the curve of her bum. He wasn't as unaffected as he pretended to be because she could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her skin. She should have felt trapped. But she didn't.   
An endless moment crawled by, Hermione's body adjusting to his side. When the pain faded into a dull ache, she spoke, “you can move now.”

“Orders, little bird?” he muttered into her neck. 

Hermione let her hands move from his shoulders and into his hair, “a suggestion.”

Barty grunted and moved up onto his elbows. He didn't say another word as he withdrew and slammed back into her. She grimaced, expecting the pain to return, but all she felt was the sensation of being stuffed. He pulled out again, skin sliding on skin before once more forcefully thrusting into her. He kept unwavering eye contact with her the entire time he fucked her. An intense stare that seemed to sink into her brain. 

The feel of him moving inside her was insanely distracting and she had to close her eyes several times. But when they fluttered open Barty was still watching her. She felt heat pool between her thighs and clenched in anticipation. The move made Barty's rhythm falter, so she did it again. 

“Hermione,” he warned. 

She smiled innocently. 

His eyes narrowed and he increased the pace. Pushing into her with brutal force, his hips making a snapping motion at the last moment. It touched something inside her that skirted close to pleasure and she gasped. He was relentless, his cock splitting her open again and again. She felt the familiar tingle build in her spine but knew she wouldn't come this first time. The feeling of him stretching her was too new. So instead she focused on him. Of giving him pleasure. His eyes widened in surprise as he peeked into her mind and saw her intention. 

She tightened around him again. He snarled. She pulled her hands from his sweaty strands of hair and drew her fingernails down his back. He shuddered and slammed inside her to the hilt, twitching as he came. When he'd finished he sagged against her, his skin sticking to hers. His hot breath seared her neck, drying the droplets of sweat. 

They remained like that for a long time, until finally Barty pulled away and began to roughly pull on his clothes. He didn't say a word to her as he left the room. Hermione looked at the ceiling and fought back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. She understood, of course. He didn't know how to act. Her desire to put him first had confused him. It had probably never happened to him before. She wondered if it would send him over the edge, or perhaps into hiding.

He was used to that after all. He'd been forced into doing it his entire life. She pulled in a tired breath and crawled under the covers. They felt itchy against her sweat-slicked skin. She closed her eyes and wondered what he was doing. Was he staring into the dark? Or was he lost to madness and fighting to regain control? 

Either way his abandonment hurt. Even though she knew that hadn't been intentional. As she drifted off to sleep, she couldn't keep a few tears from slipping out from under her tightly closed lids.


	22. Chapter 22

The office was full to the brim with dithering witches and wizards. Their endless chatter droned on and on, blending into one seamless sound that was giving Cormac a headache. They’d been at it for hours, discussing the latest development and figuring out what they could do to prevent it from happening again. Cormac wanted them all to shut up. Clearly the incident had been a one off. In fact, one look at Zeagburg’s unconcerned face convinced him of it. The untidy wizard looked like he was about to fall asleep at any moment. McLaggen wished he could join him, but one look at his father’s stern expression prevented that desire from taking seed. 

Sighing, he propped his chin on his palm and let the noise wash over him. Tonight had been incredible. He could still hear the sound of Goyle’s bones snapping and smell the scent of Barty’s burning flesh. But the best thing was that he was now convinced that Hermione was on their side. She’d barely flinched during the games and he was sure that it would be only a matter of time before he had her beneath him. Those pathetic years of watching her fawn over Weasley would finally be over. He would fuck her until all she could feel was his cock sliding into her. 

He was so caught up with imagining her naked and moaning that he failed to notice when the others began to leave. 

“Cormac!” His father’s voice barked from beside him. “Have you been paying attention? I will be asking you questions.” 

Cormac felt his heart clench. There were always fucking questions. Life as Octavian Mclaggen’s son was one big test and his father was constantly waiting for him to fail. Almost expecting him to. It was like Mclaggen Sr lived for the moments when he could pepper him with questions. And no matter what answer Cormac gave, it was always wrong. It was never detailed enough or the words were missing the refinement his father wanted to hear. 

The last Auror left, clicking the door shut behind him and leaving Cormac, his father, and Minister Zeagburg alone. 

“Well, Minister, now that the rabble have departed, I’ll ask you once again: Do we need to be worried or is this something that you can remedy?” Octavian asked the drowsy Zeagburg. 

Cormac leant forward, all of his attention centred on the scruffy wizard and the words he was about to speak. 

“It can be remedied.” His slight accent was barely noticeable as he glanced around the room in apparent bemusement. “A mere inconvenience.” 

Octavian McLaggen’s eyebrows rose until they almost touched his hairline. “You call a collared Death Eater killing his master an inconvenience?”

“Forgive me. A poor choice of words.” Zeagburg’s lips pulled down at the corners in a grimace. “I meant merely that the incident was an anomaly and unlikely to happen again.” He tapped his blunt fingernails on top of the desk in a jagged rhythm. “A minor adjustment to the collar will ensure that it does not.”

Octavian gave a sharp nod, the dim light catching on the grey strands that blended with the blond and for a brief second giving the appearance of a halo. “Well, Cormac? What orders would you give to the Ministry workers were you in my shoes?” 

Cormac resisted the urge to drop his shoulders and close his eyes. Here was the test that he’d dreaded but knew was inevitable. He swallowed, seeking to moisten his dry mouth and knowing that his efforts were futile. The moment he opened his lips to speak, his words would stick in his throat and he would be unable to say what his brain commanded. 

“Umm.” He winced, knowing he had failed before he’d even properly begun. “I would have each of the Death Eaters brought into the Ministry to have their collars adjusted.” 

“Would you?” Octavian’s face held the ghost of a sneer. “Why?” 

Cormac blinked, sensing a trap hidden behind the words, but unable to see it. “Minister Zeagburg suggested it and I agree with his assessment. Adjusting the collars is a prudent move.”

“And if the Minister suggested you dance naked in the streets and show the world your shame, would you also agree to that?” his father replied in that silky voice Cormac detested. 

A rush of blood filled the younger McLaggen’s cheeks. From the corner of his eye he saw Zeagburg shift, discomforted at having to bare witness to his embarrassment. Cormac wanted to tell him that he needn’t have bothered. Public humiliation was one of Octavian McLaggen’s favourite weapons and he was more than used to experiencing it.

“Well?” his father barked. 

Cormac merely shook his head and waited. 

“Stupid boy. Until you can learn to think for yourself, keep your mouth shut.” His father made a gesture to Zeagburg which caused the Wizard to push to his feet and move towards the door. Octavian followed, his spine perfectly straight as he came to a stop beside the Minister. He whispered a word, muffling their conversation from Cormac’s ears.

He was glad. All he wanted to do was go home and think about Granger. Instead, he was stuck at the Ministry listening to his father’s thinly veiled barbs and scathing comments. What they should be doing was interrogating the Death Eater. Using whatever means necessary to discover how he had managed to kill someone. That’s what he should have said to his father. Those were the words that would have gained his father’s respect and pride. But,as always, they had come far too late. Cormac twisted his lips as he studied the two wizards. Zeagburg looked like he’d dressed in the dark, the deep-blue robes he wore were rumpled and dusty. His tufty white hair was standing up as though he’d been running his fingers through it again and again. In stark contrast, Octavian McLaggen looked immaculate in his charcoal dress robes and neatly combed hair. 

Cormac felt a muscle in his back twitch as he maintained his stiff posture. ‘McLaggen’s didn’t slouch’ was a sentence he’d heard so often that it was ingrained inside his brain. He’d spent years during his childhood walking around with a metal rod charmed to his back. If he leant forward the tiniest amount, his skin would pull and threaten to tear. Only his father was able to undo the charm and he would often leave it in place for weeks until Cormac would walk around with silent tears running down his cheeks. But his posture was immaculate. Apart from the times when he deliberately slouched, always done with casual indifference. 

Appearance was very important to a McLaggen and Cormac had been taught at an early age to cultivate his and use it to his advantage. Which was why Hermione’s rejection of him at Hogwarts had always both puzzled and irritated him. She’d seen arrogance and not refinement when she looked at him. And it had nibbled away at his self confidence ever since. A slow erosion that he’d managed to hide from his father. 

The click of the door shutting drew his attention. He looked up to see his father alone, Zeagburg having left without him being aware of it. 

“What news of the Granger girl? Will she be a problem that needs to be dealt with?” Octavian asked. 

Cormac shook his head. “She showed no signs of sympathising with the Death Eaters. I’ll keep an eye on her just in case.” 

“See that you do.” Octavian cocked his head. “Now, I want you to go to the Creevy house and make sure that the idiotic Aurors clean up the room and remove the body.”

Cormac nodded his head and prepared to stand. He could feel his father’s cool stare watching him as he made his way towards the door. When he grasped the handle, the cold brass felt icy against his palm. He pushed and the door popped open. 

“Do not disappoint me,” Octavian said as Cormac stepped into the hallway. 

“I won’t,” he replied, maintaining his blank expression. “You can count on me.” 

Octavian inclined his head with a small smile. It disappeared before it fully formed, leaving behind his usual stiff facade. Cormac felt his father’s expectation like a heavy weight, dragging his shoulder’s down. The door closed and he could still feel his father’s regard through the thick wood. Clenching his jaw, Cormac forced his feet to move. 

The hallways were busy, hardly surprising considering what had happened earlier that night. Everyone was panicking and not knowing quite what to do. They were chatting to each other in little huddles, their voices hushed and edged with fear. By morning, the entire wizarding world would know what had happened and the prickly atmosphere would intensify. The distrust would increase and Cormac’s job would be made harder. 

He made his way to the floo, closing his eyes as he called out the Creevy’s address and felt the tug in the pit of his stomach as he was transported to their home. The first thing he smelt was blood. The coppery scent hung in the air, filling his nose with death’s perfume. It was a familiar enough smell that he didn’t gag. But he did flinch at the sight before him. Blood. So much blood. The urge to vomit flooded his mouth with saliva and he barely managed to swallow it down. 

His father had found yet another way to test him. Across the room he could feel the attention of several of the Aurors fixed on him. No doubt cataloguing his response so it could be relayed to Octavian McLaggen later. Cormac bit the inside of his cheek and allowed his eyes to trail over the scene. 

The body of Jonathan Creevy had been left on top of a coffee table in the centre of the room. His limbs were splayed at horrific angles, the arms and legs dislocated at the shoulders and hips. His head was tipped back, his mouth open in a silent scream that would never be heard, his tongue was swollen and protruded from his lips like a hideous purple slug. His brown eyes were spread wide and staring at the blood-splattered ceiling. Skin had been peeled from his chest and stomach and lay against his sides and pelvis in wet folds. The muscles of his chest were a dull red, his intestines grey and worm-like. 

Cormac turned his attention towards the Aurors. “Two of you take him back to the Ministry. The rest of you clean up.” He wandered over to a relatively clean area of the room and twisted to face them. “I don't see you moving.” 

He saw resentment ripple across the small group at his orders. They were all older than him and he knew they detested having him in charge. They believed the only reason he had the job was because of his father. They were right. Octavian McLaggen had called in several favours to ensure that Cormac didn't have to work his way up the ladder like everyone else. It often made things difficult for him, but it was yet another test he had to endure on a daily basis. 

The Aurors still hadn't moved and Cormac looked at each of them in turn. “Is there a problem?” 

One by one they dropped their gaze and began to shuffle about the room, removing the body and vanishing the blood under Cormac’s watchful stare. This was one test that he wouldn't fail, no matter how much the Aurors wanted him to.

He drew in a slow breath and began to plan out ways he could impress his father. The list was short. But discovering the reason as to why the collar had failed would be a start. He could test his hypothesis on Pansy. The little bitch would be the perfect subject. Perhaps he could even get Hermione to help him, she was bound to offer up a few explanations. Tomorrow. He would owl her tomorrow. 

Cormac smiled coolly. Yes. This was a test he wouldn't fail.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, your eyes do not deceive you. This is an update :) Many thanks to CatherineMorgenstern for fixing my mistakes and working her usual magic.

Molly woke Barty at the crack of dawn and banished him from the house, her nasal voice ordered him not to put a foot anywhere near the place. He wasn't even to look at it. Barty was happy to comply, his mood was atrocious and the likelihood of him losing his temper was pretty much guaranteed. He’d let the little bird crawl under his skin.

His hands curled into fists as an angry sneer settled on his face. She wouldn't be there for long, he’d make sure of it, because he knew one thing with absolute certainty; fucking Hermione Granger had been a mistake. One that Barty intended to rectify. He felt the familiar sensation of madness swell up inside him, devouring his control, ripping apart his reasoning. He welcomed it. Closing his eyes, he waited for the voices to emerge, willing them to pierce his brain and drive all thoughts of Hermione out. 

It took a long time, his senses still flooded with her taste and scent, but finally the whisper of a voice reverberated inside his mind. Hurt them. Kill them. Make them bleed. He smiled and pulled the voices around him, losing himself to darkness. He conjured up memories of the past, allowing the images to soothe his soul. 

He remembered receiving the dark mark. How it had seared his skin, sunk into his bones and merged with his magic. The pain had been unbearable. Barty had loved every second. Even now he sometimes stroked the faded mark and wished for the agony of his Lord’s summoning. 

The memory shifted and he saw the Longbottoms, twisting and weeping beneath his wand; sanity snapping one thread at a time as he watched with an impassive gaze. It had been hard to hold Bella in check. The witch had been impatient to destroy them. Barty could still hear her laughter ringing in his ears, countless years later. But he’d managed to convince her of the sweetness of patience. Of how the slow unravelling of a person's life could give pleasure. 

He could do that to Hermione; tug her apart piece by piece and revel in her despair. All he needed to do was distance himself from these strange feelings she stirred inside him. He disliked the way she looked at him, her brown eyes full of warmth and understanding. That would be the first thing he broke. The way she looked at him. 

He bathed in his memories for hours, allowing them to darken his mood. Barty didn't move, occupied with the sounds of his own fractured mind as the sun crawled unnoticed across the sky. Only when he heard the distant sounds of the Burrow filling with Weasleys did he slowly emerge. And even then it was only to stand and stare at the shadows bracketing the door. He knew Hermione would come soon, her ridiculous Gryffindor heart would seek to reassure him, perhaps try to convince him that it hadn't been a mistake, that it could work between them. Barty had prepared himself against such pathetic notions. 

Night was falling when she arrived. He could hear her soft footsteps sliding through the dirt outside the door. She hesitated for a moment before knocking softly on the rotten wood. That alone confirmed it was her, no one else would bother with such niceties. 

Barty said nothing, merely glared at the door and hoped that she would take the hint and leave. The need to hurt her, to take back control, gnawed on his nerves. Naturally, his little bird did not disappoint. Hermione tentatively opened the door and stepped inside. 

“Barty? Are you here?” She shuffled to the side before commanding her wand to illuminate. 

He sneered as the harsh light chased away the darkness. “Where else would I be?” he murmured. 

He watched her falter before she drew back her shoulders and lifted her chin. The action made his fingers twitch. It would take only a second - a single second - to wrap his hands around her throat and snap her neck. He was sure he could do it before the failsafe kicked in. But he wanted her to suffer. To feel pain burn away her resolve. He wanted to bask in her tears and nurse her back to health so he could start all over again. He knew she would be beautiful when brought to the brink of insanity. She would be worth worshipping in her torment as he shattered her.

“....something wrong?” 

Her words broke through his fantasies and he realised he’d been staring at her neck for some time. He flicked his eyes back up to her face and saw a frown rumpling her brow. “Whatever could be wrong, little bird?” 

“I don't know. I just...well,” Hermione said, clearly uncomfortable. 

Barty grinned maniacally. “Have you come here to beg me to fuck you again?” He stalked closer, delighting in the flush colouring her cheeks. 

“No!” Hermione fidgeted with the edge of her jumper. “I came to talk about a recent development concerning the Death Eaters. I take it you haven't heard what happened last night?” 

He raised an eyebrow. “I heard you scream last night quite distinctly, Hermione.” 

The fading blush returned to her cheeks at the intimacy of his words. Barty grinned. It was so easy to crawl under her skin and scratch. Even now she wanted to shift her eyes away from his and pretend he hadn't spoken. 

“Jonathan Creevy was killed by a Death Eater.” 

He stilled at her words. They were a tantalising glimpse of hope, yet he knew they must be untrue. “Impossible.” 

Hermione crossed her arms and tossed her hair over her shoulders. “I assure you it is possible. It's all anyone at the Ministry can talk about.” 

Barty narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to her, steeling himself against the heat from her body. 

“Tell me,” he demanded. 

The witch stiffened at his tone, but continued after a few moments. “Nobody knows how it happened. The Death Eater seems to have found a way around the failsafe.” She tilted her head to the side, exposing the soft line of her throat. “Creevy was killed slowly. Methodically.” 

“Hmmmm,” Barty murmured, losing himself to images of torture. 

The ghosts of his past rose up once more and he gloried in the rush of power the memories brought with them. Most people didn't understand how intoxicating it is to hold the life of another in your grasp, knowing all you have to do is squeeze and the light will drain from their eyes. 

“Barty?” Hermione inquired with a puzzled frown. 

He refocused on her, allowing his gaze to trace the freckles scattered along her nose and cheeks. It was only then that he realised how much he had closed in on her. Only a few inches separated them, but he did nothing to erase them. 

“What became of the Death Eater?” he asked as he backed away and returned to his previous position. 

The tension melted from Hermione’s shoulders at the growing gap between them. “He was taken to the Ministry’s vaults. I have no idea what they plan to do with him.” 

“Interrogate and examine I should imagine.” He traced his tongue along his bottom lip. “I was particularly good at both when I served the Dark Lord.” 

Hermione flinched at the reminder of his past deeds. Barty grinned at her discomfort and decided to push further. “How does it feel knowing hands that touched you so intimately last night once skinned a man alive? I can still hear his screams when I close my eyes.” 

The blood drained from her face and she took a step back. “Stop it! I know what you're doing and it isn't going to work.” 

Barty cocked his head to the side. “What am I doing, little bird?”

“You're trying to punish me for last night. You felt things that scared you and-” 

“Scared?” he interrupted. “I would advise you to stop talking, Hermione, or I will show you what feeling scared is really like. In fact, I would rather enjoy showing you.” 

Her eyes widened, but his brave little lioness didn't otherwise move. Barty was impressed and, oddly enough, proud of her. But what else did he expect from the infamous Hermione Granger. She’d survived the touch of Bella’s madness and he very much wanted to know if she would survive his. He allowed a small smile to curl the corners of his mouth as he continued to stare at her. She wouldn't meet his gaze directly, but Barty knew it wasn't because she was afraid, it was because she didn't want him to see what she was thinking. 

The silence lengthened until it was a solid presence between them. It had a weight that pressed against the chest and made breathing difficult. Barty felt himself harden as he watched her shift as the tension became unbearable. He stepped forward and saw her breath hitch the tiniest amount.

“They’ll be taking you into the Ministry soon,” she said, picking at the material of her skirt. “They're going to be checking all the Death Eaters’ collars as a precaution. I expect you might be one of the first they bring in.” 

It was all said in a rushed way that spoke of how nervous she was. Barty smirked and took two more deliberate steps towards her. 

“Umm. So, I think you should try to read Zeagburg’s thoughts when they take you in.” She moved her hands from her sides to her front, folding them in an unconscious effort to close herself off from him. “I, I mean we, need to know what happened. We need to know if the spell on the collars has a loophole, something we can use, something…” Her voice trailed off as he closed the gap between them. 

Hermione still wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was fixed on the base of his throat and it gave her a demure, submissive look that made him harden further. “Something?” he murmured, watching his breath stir the loose strands of her hair. 

“Yes. Something that could help us,” she said, making to step away from him. 

Barty lifted his hands to her waist, holding her so she couldn't move. He clenched his fingers until they were tight enough to leave bruises and delighted in the fact that she didn't cower, but shot him a glare instead. 

“Help us, little bird? Why would I want to help anyone but myself?” He slowly drew one hand up her side, along her shoulder and around her throat. Her pulse fluttered against his fingers? and he pushed up his hand, forcing her jaw to lift. 

“You know why,” she said.

Barty hummed in agreement. He did know. There was no way he could do it alone; no matter what he pulled out of Zeagburg’s head, he would need help. If he could use Legilimency against the wizard at all. The dithering, old fool had been surprisingly good at avoiding his eyes during the procedure to attach the collar. In fact, he hadn't made eye contact once. Of course, Barty had been out of his mind at the time, madness nipping at his sanity as the blackness eclipsed his vision, but he remembered now. 

Hermione flinched beneath his fingers. It was a tiny movement, but it was enough to draw his attention back to her. He smiled, slowly dipping his head until his lips were a breath away from hers. 

“Do you want me, little bird?” he whispered. 

“You know I do.” She said it so quietly that her words barely made a sound. 

“Show me,” he commanded. 

Her eyes fluttered shut and she rocked forward, pressing their lips together. Barty held himself perfectly still. He didn't allow a single muscle to move as Hermione tried and failed to coax him into a kiss. After a few awkward moments, she pulled back and gave him a fierce look before shoving him away.

“Don't come to my room again unless you're ready to accept what you feel. I won't let you play me, Barty,” she said in a perfectly calm voice. 

Barty felt his eye twitch as she turned and walked out of the shed. The order she’d issued settled in his bones like a shard of glass and he felt the single thread holding his sanity in place snap in two. He gladly turned himself over to the madness, embracing the jagged edges and pushing all thoughts of Hermione fucking Granger out of his head. 

 

!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys and please don't forget to leave a comment. They make my day and really help to spur me on. Cheers


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